Empty Stone
Sweep up the dust of those prayers
whispered up to echo through empty stone.
Dancing like dust, dancing
like angels on the heads of a pin
in the rainbow-flecked sunlight
pouring through stained-glass windows
hiding a real world, outside the empty stone,
where life goes on and time passes.
While, inside the stone tomb,
dust settles on dust and whispers
fade away without ever reaching
any ear that could ever offer a hand
to lead someone away from this
and out into that sunlight where birds
fly free and sing in treetops
not huddle in cages singing songs to no-one.
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