Atheist at the Abbey

Centuries old screams drift on the wind like dust,

Drowned out by prayers that are older still.

The smoke of dissolution has blown away,

But scars in the rubble are plain to see.

And yet

Here, now

New prayers harmonise with old

Fresh salve for festered wounds

A chorus of ages

Yet we dare not join the choir

For these words are not in our hearts.

But the sound...

The sight...

It is enough to bear witness

To a familiar faith

Blooming without us