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By Sabrina Russo
It was a testament to
a greater Purpose,
but even its might
could stand no chance against time.
Ruins are left now;
stone etchings now
illegible
on crumbling markers of
forgotten lives.
My cathedral was never one
of stone and soaring vaults--
the vaults of the sky are limitless
and my frescoes
are made of starlight.
My holy water needs no
blessings.
In its very existence,
it is counted already as blessed.
I step into the water of the
living shore
and I am pure;
the turmoil of a past life
washed away with each frigid
caress.
Protected by heather and
thistle,
there is no bed any longer
that can bear me to a peace
like this.
I am unimpeded by stone, wood,
or protocol.
I pray in divinity
to divinity
from divinity.
And in these moments
upon a grassy altar,
there is no sermon
to interrupt the conversation.
 


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