The fragile spring light through stained glass
Sifted and soft, diluted – almost as if not allowed
To enter this hallowed place where in shrouds
Every day forgotten saints witness the new mass

I am awed by this place of worship – the grandiosity
From every angle, virtue, skill – stunning and beautiful
So why can’t I feel anything but cold, no presence at all
Inside this
Testament to – Man’s Faith or the foolishness of Humanity
I guess both are true equally