Cathedral Poem by Martin Ward

Cathedral

I could not
read the words,
but to my imagination
and gazing eyes,
the vision before me
numbed my tongue.

I am but a grain of sand
before the presence of God.

My hands feel
the cold stones
that reach up
to another world.
Rainbows of light
search out corners
where no-one dare hide:
where only the few
whose marbled edifices
grace and humble
before the Almighty.

I watched this place grow
within our town,
now city, which stands
as beacon and rod.
Forty years and more
since it began:
when others
have not lived
to see the glory
within the walls,
that masons, carpenters
and operative orders
have served
their master overseer;
that I might feel
the columns
that grant me
a vision of Heaven
or a glimpse of Hell.

Creatures of another world
cower beneath
The Almighty's Blessing Hand,
in adoration
or in dread:
love, consternation,
pleasure or pain?
Images, the likes of which
I have never before seen:
of saints and sinners,
who sit in Heaven
or roast in Hell,
whilst angels sing
perpetual songs of praise.

The figure I see
I presume as Christ,
or God himself,
seated on his
Heavenly Throne.
I dare not ask
of how or why
the rich and holy
understand the likenesses
of God and Christ,
or of the saints and holy ones.

Am I in or out of place?
When my time comes
my body cannot stay here,
but belongs in lesser grounds.

Even in death
we are not equals.