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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Continued from Part 1 The City’s blur? A sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews – Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues, for churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise. No cantillation, belfry bells, monastic chants inspire and Minarets, though standing yet, host neither voice nor crier - abodes and buildings silhouette a muted spectral choir. A church’s Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below and, all alone amongst the stones, a maiden’s blue jabot. The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos now aglow. Stray footsteps swarm through church no more (apostates that profane) though echoes in the nave still din and chalice cups retain an altar wine that tastes of brine decaying in the rain. Coiled candle sticks, with twisted wicks, no longer 'lume the cracks - their dying flames revealed the shame, mid pendant pearls of wax, when deference to innocence dissolved in molten tracks. Six steeple towers, steel though now drab daggers in the sky! Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by – for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh. The chapel chimes? Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante) won’t writhe to ring the carillon, alone and lean and gaunt – its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font. No saints will come with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm nor bless pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm, nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, nor beg lethean balm. Continued in Part 3
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