Climbing to the Chapterhouse in that Measureless Thing We Call Years Lost
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The steps lead upward in a staircase worn
Away by centuries, worn by priests in shoes
From times when prayers* thought a unicorn
Or gryphon might exist. Steps wear the bruise
Of sandstone sloped away by piety
While taking care of business stuff. Priests pace
As if they always feel anxiety,
As if they do not know about Christ’s grace,
As if there is no heaven to be attained.
Their worn down ladder to eternity
Tempts us to wonder if they ever gained
Their holy wishes for supernity.
For us the steps lead backward to the past
Where we and eras lost are overcast.
*meaning people who are praying
~ Phillip Whidden