Spirituality

Standing behind the balustrade,  
The spirits can see the promises made,  
By those who came and went,  
By those who come and go, some who always frequent  
These hallowed grounds,  
These walls' and columns' bounds.  
Everyday, turns the year's wheel,  
Everyday, new souls come to kneel,  
On the tile floor, in the rainbow light of the stained glass window,  
To ask for help, during life's short window.  
They ask for forgiveness, for blessings, and for help,  
Tangled up in life, like kelp.  
As by the sides, solemn, dark, robed figures come by,  
Swinging incense behind columns, holding up the walls, where praying hopefuls cry.  
With the glorious sun setting,  
Under painted ceilings, in a sacred building,  
Guarded by gargoyles, under a celestial syzygy of worlds,  
As they prey to their one, single, god, crushing the hopes and dreams  
Of the ones who know where they come from, dreams,  
Of the ones like us, who know there are more than just one,  
And more than just oblivion,  
As the ones outside seem to think,  
That they will go in an eye blink,  
When life is over,  
And a belief they share with those in here, no coming back in a new life to do over,  
To try again,  
One try and another soul to fail again.  
How have they all gotten so pessimistic,  
So nihilistic?