Olivia Chevron

The Traveller

In passing wants and infinite desires
We step onto the altar, where stood before
The saints, the brides, the sires.
The stony figures look down upon us both,
Solemnly nodding their heartfelt blessing.
They call upon the priest who will us betroth.
He finds us arm in arm – gentle and embracing.
Then who shall be our witness
In this draughty place?
Here is mere a traveller,
With tired limbs, and a shadowed face.
His body protected from the glaring sun,
By layers of heavy cloth.
He rode to here at the highest speed.
To this church of Goth.
Searching for his destiny, his fate, his path, his grail.
He ends up now, enjoining us, in this place San Ch’ Aíl.
 
Tuesday 30 May 2006

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Olivia Chevron.
Published on e-Stories.org on 16.06.2006.

 

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