The Cathedral Window

Tall, rocket-shaped,
always the shattered yellow
rays eminating from the hands
of martyrs, saints or God Himself
whose expression appears as if
He has other things on his Mind
like the dark-hooded figures
marching down the basement stairs.
And in darkness of these steps
you can almost see God kneeling,
hear His low-thunder like whispering
for the damned to take off their cloak
and follow Him home.

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