Thursday Poem: These Rituals

These Rituals

Here is everything, held on the outside
there is nothing left on the inside.
We go through the rituals, solemn and slow
and leave everything that matters behind.

We know now what we only guessed before,
these rituals have no meaning beyond themselves.
Certain steps taken, certain gestures made
not for the benefit of some unseen watcher,
who dispenses punishments and rewards.

But just as some dance that once meant something
and is now a ritualised movement across this floor
of a building that seemed to give answers
to the questions that few dared ask again.

And now the rain falls down through the empty sky,
drips on down through this leaking roof
onto the bowed heads of those who wait for signs
they know they never will see and never will come.