Inside the Cathedral (poem) by Timothy Michael writerwanted@hotmail.com on AuthorsDen

Inside the Cathedral
by Timothy Michael writerwanted@hotmail.com → (All Poetry by Timothy Michael writerwanted@hotmail.com)

Save

Follow Share on Facebook

Sierra Madre, the open coast still days away. Riding with the sunset behind me for Guerrero before the sun rise. The darkness came moving in like a thick blanket of fog. Innocence, waning and thrashing succumbed to the Evil. Political regimes, one to the other, unjustified madness trickling down, a house without a keeper, exposed us to all that prevailed. More than my eyes could take I fled without shame to the desert Every sound, every shadow underfoot hastened my delivery. Among tumbleweeds marked in a different time, leaving me standing in a locust wind left empty by the shadows of twilight she went lame in the night. In front of me stood a Cathedral thirty feet high by the lighted torch. The tower without a bell to honor God in this soulless town. Old wooden pews undisturbed, covered in cobwebs, the roof above opened for the stars to peek in. No thatch or mud for years it seems. Would he dwell within this darkness? �Drink my loyal friend, I will gather what this desert has to offer to feed your strength, rest to heal your troubled stride.� On the Alter I prayed, not for vengence, but for the souls of Iguala. The sounds of my dying home crying into the night. A brilliant light arose from the Alter. So sharp were the shards I had to turn my eyes away. I tried to move yet fear would not allow it. An Angel appeared saying unto me �do not fear for the Son of man has sent me, You will lead his children into this desert.� The wind pricked up peace so serene, ran through me filling this grieving soul I felt the ocean calm miles away. From above I witnessed a door open in the light the sounds of 1,000 thundering horses came to this old Cathedral. A bell rang out! The chime stirred the wind it�s rich sounds rippled of Red and Gold, that smoothed over the landscape reaching every where a sound could be heard. My mare healed, dressed in silver and gold. Freedom�s ride, in the hour of atonement, a witness to the impending wrath surrounded by the Army of God. Dressed in armor fired by his hand more brilliant by anything I�d ever seen. We rode above ground, upon the night. Lightening and Thunder were the sounds of 1000 horses impaling the darkness. Gabriel reached for the sword� Iguala burning, mothers weeping in the streets Evil lurked with eyes, black as the deepest sin. Black as the anger that lurks inside shame clouded my vision, falling to the ground below. The bell tolled and the world listened darkness fell in the wake of light. Surrounding the town, with their heavenly presence brilliant light bled through the smallest cracks, every darkened corner transformed by the Holy army. The enemy�s waning cry would not live through the hour. Cradling her lifeless son, a woman on her knees drenched his young body in tears. With all she had to offer, she cried for his breath a prayer of hope through the eyes of misery. Placing my fingertips on her quivering lips upon my gilded mare I pulled him to my chest, listening in this walk of faith riding for the hallowed innocence. In the Cathedral placing him gently on the alter. I cried in prayer to Jesus �let him feel the freedom of Calvary.� I turned back to beguile the locust wind Iguala, the place of my birth now a smoldering haze on the desert floor. Every wanting eye turned to me. Following the chiming bell, I led the people away, with nothing more than faith. How was I to see what would be done? The sun broke over the tower the bell rang in the day. The Cathedral stood new, transformed by the Father�s hand. We entered, kneeling at the alter to thank the Son of God, a child rose slowly turning, sobbing in disbelief, she ran to embrace him. Rejoicing in tears, it left me shaking. All things in this new day reborn. My living testament etched by the blood of the lamb. Hewn with the finest oak the rooftop felt the falling rain, the changing desert revealed, a longing to come to life again. For every ear to listen to the sound of my voice I have seen what has died and been reborn. The spirit of the first harvest yielded in the dreams that live in the sons of farmers