Like the heavens,
Draws the eyes,
Upward,
Upward toward the eternal,
The ethereal sky,
I am but a grain of sand,
This great structure,
Pulls the soul,
Inwards,
Inwards towards oblivion,
This is its power,
To make me feel small,
To make them feel powerful.
The dichotomy
Between me and this behemoth,
Must be truly the feeling of the Absurd,
Its power,
Is its ability to imply divinity,
Or isolation,
Here I stand alone,
Before god’s model toy,
But he can play with his toys,
And leave me be.
I am frightened,
They are empowered,
I ought to see divine,
All I see is myself,
Mirrored tenfold in its great windows,
Made small against its great cold walls,
Again I look skywards,
I almost stumble,
The vertigo,
The vertigo of a lost soul.
But it is beautiful,
It is undeniable,
There is no god,
No divinity,
But this is here,
This great Cathedral,
It’s golden roof,
The hands that built it,
The people who pray in it,
We are here.
Perhaps I was wrong,
If it’s power is to empower,
Then it has achieved its goal,
It affirms,
The true, the false,
The questions, the answers.
I am changed,
No longer lost,
Confirmed in my own reflection,
My reflection,
in the great behemoth,
Tells of the greatness of humanity,
God inspired this church,
But we built it.
Through my own negation,
I have been confirmed,
This great behemoth,
It’s golden roof,
They show me,
The beauty,
And the real.

Photo: Urban Jyden from Unsplash