Steeple grasping for the goal
high above the clutching ground
where we stand to look above
wondering if God sees below.
The earth is ours to cultivate
sow the good, the bad, the in-between
what will come from these attempts
to find our place beneath the eaves?
Scratchings in the terra firma
looking down instead of up
seeking something better when
the shadows press when sun sets.
The dusk invokes the side of men
hiding from sight of top edifice
why does the dark bring out
those things that the tower fights?
Bells will toll for sins unseen
mourning the victims craving peace
some should win, others lose
goes the chant from crowd’s mouth
while so sad this is the norm
never too long on the low
says those who rule by their force
who are they to hold us down?
A backward glance towards the sky
wondering if the angels cry
when they look down on our sins
made in their name by evil ones
spurned on by fears straight from Hell
Satan rejoices when mortals fail
how much can we fall before
the steeple will never be our home?
2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161112.