Aureole fading – Christopher Hall

That corona garland, worn by few

May be piously brandished by the chosen,

Who by human sleight, in distance gone,

Tried to impress an angry god, with

Good deeds done.

Years have passed, and those left to

Burnish halos above the pews

Grow mute, and faint, inside

The stone façade, outside a fattening Sun,

Bakes the sandstone enclave hard.

The brocade of landscape, drying to brown,

Is burning beyond those sainted gates,

And no one is listening, to those

Pall soaked men that guard

The dying parchments of contrived fate.

I walked among the illuminated passions,

Those paintings lingering in regal blue

And listened to the gathering hate, of those

Outside the walls that shield,

Grow more enraged, in the swelling crowd;

And wait, for the walls to yield.