Interiors of some old churches, when I’m there alone,
have such fine details and colors of an exquisite tone,
that seem to contribute to my exceptional feeling
of an awe that has little to do with kneeling.
It might have something to do with the ceiling
though I never find a complete revealing
of why these churches are so appealing.
It’s not the same when I’m not alone inside;
I can’t put my awareness of the others aside.
So many varied feelings a church can provide,
like the unique religion of one who sits beside.
Faith based on all those countless who have tried
to hand down essences of revelations worldwide
and shifts in what’s considered best to hide,
many distortions and difficulties to decide
about what’s left to confide.
These constant changes will always reside
but some churches remain to give me pride.
Then I go outside.