Temple

 
Bare arms bask in worship to Sun
Twisting skyward in Sacred Geometries
Flirting Fibonacci capillaries dance
In subtle, muted acknowledgement
Of a gentle breeze

These sacred sentinels survive on islands of earth
Rooted and defiantly rise to bloom and green

In stark contrast to the dead towers of cold stone
Angular Edifices, lifeless mausoleums
Which loom grieving to inevitable gravity

Bare arms bask in Sun
Keeping rhythm with anxious feet
A face bathed in yellow
Admires the silent, stoic trees
And the playful touch of a caressing breeze

Unaware that she, too, is a glorious temple
Patterned after a holy symmetry
And is just as beautiful
As a humble prayer