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Temples MAG
December 6, 2015
If my body is a temple, then I am in ruins.
Cracks in my foundation like the remnants
of old wounds,
I am not a house of worship.
Shattered stained glass makes its home
in my skull,
I see no reason to worship it.
There are corners full of cobwebs, and gardens full of weeds,
I am not worth the worship.
There are columns missing, and walls crumbling to sand,
What is left to worship?
Tattered books of praise make up most
of my brain,
I am not a house of worship.
© Michelle K., Vancouver, WA
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