The Duomo

My Cathedral lay in pieces,  
Shattered pieces of colored glass and relics I had considered anointed  
Not by crushing and pressing out what God had ordained inside to profit His kingdom  
To be sent.  
But anointed by my own idea of virtue
 
Conceit  
 
Worship of self had been the soldering  
 
There would be radical transformation to come  
A dying  
A rebirth  
Mourning turned  
Dancing  
 
My sore parts cut away, circumcised from my heart
by Logos,  
Him who is the meta narrative, the logic begotten to true heartbeat.  
by Rhema, utterance spoken where Spirit hovered over the chaos of my self and created

a temple to dwell in