Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Sitting in the caves

We sit huddled
the city’s caves offering
a respite
a single candle burns
dim light
our faces and thoughts

cries echo above us
we sit, hiding,
not stirring
an occasional glance
offered the passageway
an occasional glance, uneasy
offered the graves

running feet above
what follows:
boots thudding above
cries anguished
then silence

we sit in caves
a spared remnant

Illustration: Crypt of Saint Caecilla in the catacomb of Callistus in Rome. Image adapted from Walter Lowrie, Monuments of the Early Church (New York:The Macmillan Company, 1901).


CJ_Apple said...

Lovely poem. I get a sense of the end days and what it might mean to find safety, and a sense of the thin line between safety and danger. You have chosen a perfect illustration to accompany your poem.

Martha J. M. Orlando said...

Gave me chills . . . beautifully written, Glynn!

Elizabeth said...

Beautifully haunting.