Gilded Thorns Poem by Gilbert Ortega

I walk through gilded doors
Glide, ghostlike, on polished wooden floors
My eyes, even as those of the penitent procession,
Gleam with flame, bright as the fury of possession
The shimmering light tints all that it bathes
Rose colored with its wax-scented rays
The idols in their alcoves seem to move and dance
As light and shadow spark a dim romance

A million whispers fill the dark spaces
Like the smoke from gold censors
Billowing about the stone faces
Its fragrant fingers pull me forth
Past gulfs of contrition
As a Templar on horse

I watch the proceedings as if in a dream
My vantage in shadows, a sight unseen
But, the slumber reveals a harsh reality
A chasm from whence my soul's duality
Cries like a vampire dragged into sunlight