“Notre Dame”

By Elvira

Knight, errant                                      armor
shining in the sun
Your time                    is past
yet,
You still look
for the grail
False Tales morph as
Truth

The Cup                                               is human
Cleansed with Generation
continuing,
spreading;
HERSELF                                              buried in France.
The Magdalene IS
NOTRE DAME
but we do not
speak of HER.
Heretics are we, at
HER Shrine!
Bones Brittle
yet, somewhere
HIS blood                                             continues

But this is                                            Supposition
The Body Buried
Unknown
Its Fragment,
mystery.
Do you live
only in Myth:
a pretty story to calm
the Masses?

Himself,                       unseen
brings succor
to those                                               who
sink into
solitude

Your Light                                            Absorbs
Desolation;
Yet,                                          as priestly Absolution
False.

2015

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