Kirkstall Abbey Poem by C Richard Miles

Tawdry commercialism cozies up to history
At Kirkstall where the trade-tired superstores
Sit so uneasily beside black abbey walls
And, though devoted monks are gone,
It seems commercialism is the rule
That new religion’s followers obey
In these temples to the trader’s skill.
Who knows how long these spurious shrines
Of breeze-block buildings shall have stood
Before they crumble, fall and then decay?
Will they withstand the tyranny of time
As have the monastery walls next door
Or will the dissolution of economy
Breach all their bastions and then destroy
To render green again the fields around
So that the sacred stones shall stand once more
Alone in Airedale’s silence, tall and proud?