Weaving into narrow dark ancient lanes
Through a corridor of walls all the same
Towards a forest of iron columns
Sunlight sparkles from a mirror of slate
Roof tiles extend into extended space
Overhead silent stands a clock tower.
Relentlessly, the hands move slowly forward
No forgiveness shown towards the fallen
Here is the chosen goblet of Golgotha.
Caught in a tragedy with no escape
Held captive in my forlorn despair
I cry for heavens divine direction.
I wander the street looking for a sign
An indication of all that I need
To dwell in the shelter of redemption.
Written for Poetry Jam