A Monastery
The clad ivy charms, warms the walls,
The frontage that welcomes the fold and their outsiders,
Specifying age and strength of delicate beauty,
Which accounts for that non-existent love:
History sides with them, is by their shoes,
Shows no retrogressive signs or playbacks,
For the aestheticism in which they pray and hear,
To live purely and submit to god’s will.
Massive old stones consummate the building,
Mark the sentinels of theology and doctrine,
The concept of god masoned out unchangeable,
Resistant to space and time:
Indestructible by humankind,
Unbreakable and long-lasting,
Toughened by independent and culinary monks,
Near to their hearts quandaries, contemplations;
Their pontifications ring true, bold and sold,
As the solid building structure imposes itself on nature’s garden.
Freelance lawns embrace the abbey,
Set the monks with their own position,
To roam, regenerate, prune and prime,
Sing within the vastness betrothed.
Still they go on in routine and consecration,
Chants, strings and accords of beauty,
Unwilling to journey out with themselves,
Steadfast by blinkers on life’s dynamics and rhyme.
Does god exist here as effectual,
Or is it not just the building and its surroundings?
Setting the seal on their mind thoughts,
Enabling that peace of mind,
Exemplary of that security:
That supreme veto of homelessness and weathering,
Absolute with promise of brotherly abode,
Proficient in giving freedom to make living and home,
As the construction would never make your life for you,
Against your free will, your right and personal pride,
Always proffering your dexterous gestures and movements.
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