The darkness arose
from within. The outer
hauntings were meager
things, compared to
the demons of my
own making. Sinned
and stained, like the
wicked glass, welded
tight, to capture a
moment in time.
My cathedral burned,
from within, kindling…
holy book shreds,
told of a time when
all men and women
could hold their
sinners-glass close,
and see themselves
in its glint.
A reminder, then?
An evocation,
a plea to the powers
that be…?
I beg for both
of us, to finally
see, that this wretched
image, this unholy trinity,
is only at the surface.
Look behind the welds,
the seams, the stains,
and realize that your
stained sinners-glass
only shows what was,
what
has been.
©️ Obol, 2018.
