catholic caterwaul

if the footsteps behind me are mine

echoing off the marble floors in clips

and clops, heel-toe tempo in an envelope

do you think sound travels through time?

do you think the scream i release is

captured by the stained glass windows,

the same way harmonies and hymns once sunk

holy knives into ancient gilded glass for worship?

oh the song of God is a mourning call, as most

people will call out for their Father in times

distressful and hard. could i mail my death-throes

in the same audible envelope i arrived in?

wordless noise folded over and over again

pressed together and sharpened to a blade.

cacophony shoved into every corner and corridor

until the word of God is spoken under the echo.

so would you believe anyone can become a ghost?

since time is an echo and my last memories

tied to this place are a song i never wish to sing again.

since i remember a song i shouldn’t know.

since these halls are empty of sound,

and here, death is the only thing hallowed.

i’d wish my voice to travel far back in time.

if only to guide the people God left behind.