We
sit huddled
the
city’s caves offering
a
respite
a
single candle burns
dim
light
our
faces and thoughts
shadowed
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).
3 comments:
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.
Gave me chills . . . beautifully written, Glynn!
Beautifully haunting.
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