I am not religious.
I do not believe in
God.
But when I enter
the cathedral
I am moved by its beauty.
I stare – struck silent by
the painting in which I am walking into
and wander to an empty pew
in an empty corner
away from the worshipers, kissing rosaries
and clutching crosses
that had long since hung from their necks.
The pew is cold, hard oak
and yet it is soft and more comfortable
than any feeling I've felt today.
I sit quietly,
surrounded by angels
and light so brilliant it seems divine
and I wonder about
those who have sat here before me
with bowed heads
and faith.
Within this cocoon of beauty
the guilt sweeps in
and my heart reminds me
that I am only human.
I do not know the secrets
that guide the blind.
I do not know what will happen
when I die.
I do not know
who I am
who I'll be
what I'm leaving behind.
My soul aches, longs to believe
in the things it refuses.
Sinners like me
who crave salvation;
the kind that lies
within.