I built a small cathedral
out of the hours no one saw.
Not of stone,
but of the quiet ache
that gathers when a person learns
to live with their own echo.
Inside it,
the light behaves differently.
It bends around old memories,
touches the soft edges
of the things I never said,
and warms them
as if forgiveness were a sunrise
slowly remembering how to rise.
Some days,
I am only a doorway
waiting to be opened.
Other days,
I am the whole sky
trying to hold itself together
while the wind insists
on teaching me how to let go.
But tonight,
I am simply human
a pulse,
a breath,
a small lantern of hope
carried through the dark
by hands that have learned
the art of not giving up.
And if you pass me
on one of your quieter evenings,
you might see it
that faint shimmer
of someone rebuilding themselves
not loudly,
not perfectly,
but honestly.
Twilight in the cathedral,
Silence fills its auditorium.
I linger in this atmosphere,
Seeking answers to my many questions.
Twilight in the cathedral,
A moment for reflection,
Discovering a path through the night,
Understanding the one who dwells within.
Silence in its auditorium,
Those seeking solitude gather in the cathedral,
Responding to the depths of existence,
Exploring the mysteries that shape the daylight.
I sit in reverential silence,
I bow my head,
Troubled and burdened,
I unwind.
I emerge from my darkness,
Journeying into perpetual light.
July 5, 2026.
History
Will tell
His story
He gives hell
To everyone
And to the world
As he lies and lied, he swirled
Like the leaves of autumn.
Everyone has a story
History will not absolve this one
Who is guilty
Of so much: racism,
Sexism, nepotism
Hypocrisy and weapon
Of mass destruction
No reason
To abuse power and position
Since both are ephemeral
This short-lived role
Will pass like any other season
Only God is eternal
All wars are illegal
In accordance with the Scriptures
Said the High Priest along with the vicars.
History
Will tell
His story
Ring the huge bell
Of the Cathedral
Only God is eternal
This is only a short summary
Of his biography
And not his one-page eulogy
For insulting and hurting Humanity.
Copyright © April 2026 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
It’s love that makes existence an existence
Love is a piece of art that offers the best plan
The art of you shows up, it knows no distance
Intercreated, we have done the best we can
I never doubted our time and place
We were so specialized in living for art’s sake
No sign of mystery was covering our case
It went so natural, there wasn’t a mistake
Here in this garden, which is our cathedral
Your Coral Reef’s an icon, heals all wounds
Alone again, I’m praying by the wall
I’m privileged to watch the Coral blooms..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Turn the kaleidoscope’s brass cylinder~
watch the glass teeth chew daylight
into stained-glass sermons.
A priest of shattered color
preaches through the prism’s throat:
every fracture is a door.
You tilt it again~
suddenly the universe
is a hallway of falling
jewels, a riot of saints
with no faces, only
their bright, dissolving robes.
Teenager’s first epiphany:
Learning that beauty
is just rearrangement~
that the eyes themselves
are hungry
kaleidoscopes.
this poem was written for an online poetry class assignment in response to the above image
Imposing luscious full moon dominates.
Much like a perfect midnight cathedral setting.
The devout are in awe.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
Desire turns to ire,
elation to vexation
Every single thing you do
Increases my frustration
Light shines through the colourful stained glass
It’s a sight to see such fine art
But the only glass I see stained are shards of red that you stabbed into my heart
Keep your head down
For your sins, you can’t repay
You will never be forgiven
On your knees where you shall stay
Staggering breaths
As you begin to falter
Trying to confess
all of your sins at the altar
You are no Angel
Nor are you a saint
One does not receive glory
for bragging of his attaint
Your time has come
for I hear the chime of the bells
Your lack of repent
shall send you to hell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the scent of pine needles
still sticky with resin~
a green cathedral planted
in the living room.
lights blink awake, chasing
each other like fireflies
trapped in glass.
tinsel remembers
every hand that hung it,
every laugh tangled in its silver.
For a few days out of the year
Forests are no longer simple forests
They turn into a massive cathedral
With pillars reaching up to Heaven
Ceilings made of the purest gold
With just enough light showing through
To make even the air look like it was on fire
Choirs of birds and animals raise their voices
Singing hymns, man could never write
The aisle leading up to the altar
It has its own music, spirit, and soul
A babbling brook with gentle waterfalls
The perfect music behind the hymns of the forest
Hopefully, man will never be able to enter that church
This cathedral could never survive
Maybe it would become a high-rise hotel
Or perhaps a simple parking lot
And Nature’s beauty would be gone forever
© Poem – XXI/XI/MMXXV
LRET
Echoing, an ambient hum
a blurry chandelier’s reflection,
red light bending through the skinny stem.
I live inside the glass’s soft curve
yet every breath reverberates,
every heartbeat rings back
in my intimate
crystal cathedral.
The wine is slow,
rich with memory,
yet the glass is but half-full.
Backfloat, don’t sip;
as your surroundings
are intoxicating -
they will cause you to tip.
Tears: the salt vanishes
into the red.
Do they absorb the wine?
or
Does the wine absorb the tears?
The cathedral was still lit late at night
dance music played faintly t
the drapes waved gently
the feet spun and floated
the silhouette danced gracefully
the silhouette grabbed a hand and spun
the silhouette spun in love late at night
the silhouette was alone
there was no hand to hold
there was no body to spin it in the air
but the music still hummed softly
the silhouette left
the silhouette let go of its grip.
Searching the smoking ruins
of Notre-Dame cathedral,
on the Paris Île de la Cité,
one of the finest examples medieval
of French Gothic architecture,
with flying buttresses, rib vault, immense bells,
enormous colourful rose windows
all of which went through hell
during the fearful fire of 2019,
and the No Bell Prize winner was seen to have been
mangled through the proverbial wringer
as, when looking for Quasimodo,
they found a dead ringer.
Dawn in the cathedral,
Hearts at Zion's Gate,
They converge to inquire,
To seek the light.
Darkness has trailed them,
The strange lurks around,
Nightfall harbingers the eerie,
They are unseen invaders.
Mystery blankets the land,
Murky waters run through,
Shadows walk at midnight,
These the sages foretold.
Before the morning light,
They gather to pray,
To seek the Divine,
In the pristine cathedral.
January 29, 2025.
Colors once blossomed radiantly
Filling the canvas with life and hope
Brightening even the darkest room
With love and prosperity
The ceiling once stood tall and proud
Even in the face of the worst storms
The walls were a profound comfort
In the deepest of desolation
People once congregated here
Filling the room with laughter
As smiles peppered every face
It was but a sense of community
What once was is no more
For here I remain in a crumbling ruin
With a battered faced
And tattered clothes all alone
For the years have not been kind
When days are long but years are fast
The degradation of health takes time
But one day slaps you fast
I call this the cathedral of lamentation
But really it is the confines of my mind
Once a beautiful escape that is now
A prison in which I can never escape
Now watch as I push the envelope,
give you a taste of what's possible;
The meek cannot inherit the stars,
space will lose every ounce of luster;
You will not see with a microscope,
the Universal Truth that’s plausible;
Lost within dive bars and basic cars,
no way you could go any faster;
Painted like a cathedral with scars,
your aesthetic makes you the master.
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