Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR

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The Tomb Of The Saints [a Visit To The Catacombs] - Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR

Visited the Tomb of the Saints last week
At the catacombs, beneath soil
Cracked cobblestone, its entry path
Outer walls wrapped, in pea-green moss
Ancient blight grabs you tight by the throat
Coats your lungs like the Takla Makan
Yet, two-thousand years of ashened mire
Ne're waver curious minds, from visiting
Canonized souls, within hallowed walls
It's cellared cold dampness, chilling your marrow
And, the warmest days, cool your blood, and brow
Centuries of Godliness, imbedded, like stonehenge

Walk deep inside its sacred womb...explore
Touch the countless stoneheads one by one
Each crypt a storied tale beyond its epitaph
Tales of martyrdom, aberration....miracles confirmed
Read, the etched carvings 'tween aged crosslines
Remind yourself as to who they were
Before they stood before you here, in silent sainthood
The structure itself, wears a badge of discord
Hieroglyphics still vaguely legible....
Saw the disfigured Cross of James The Lesser
So curved, it mirrored the twist of St. Bridget's
Time's touch is acrid, and boldly un-Christian

The chilled ambiance...eerily captive
Makes Grant's Tomb, seem like Strawberry Fields
Candles at night, only shadow this maze
Of the sacred remains, in thie caverned walls
Walking back on the cobblestone path, i muse
How faith, and sacrifice, still strike the heart
And my my lungs ached for days
From the lingered must and moss that festered
As if Heaven made it clear, i would not soon forget
My visit, and experience in the catacombs
And i'm going back to the Tomb of the Saints
And revel in its sacred womb again.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 28, 2015

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