How many of these gleaming, lifeless stones, <br />Will you erect and dedicate with hollow prayer? <br />Will the hordes of idols never be enough? <br />The mystic scenes that decorate your domes? <br />Even in the silence I cannot worship here, <br />Plagued by the clutter of this gaudy stuff. <br />I see your stones, how they have crumbled down, <br />By fire and flood they disappeared below, <br />And yet you willed to raise them up again, <br />Like kings in quicksand groping at their crown. <br />City upon cities, how can you cherish so <br />The fame and games of evil, piggish men? <br />You did not turn one inch from pagan gods, <br />You only introduced an ornate cross, <br />Gilded with gems and backed by vivid paint <br />Depicting passion as only heathens could, <br />Oh Rome, where all that’s true is lost, <br />Take incense, idols, papal crowns and saints <br />Give me my Savior’s cross of splintered wood.<br /><br />Trevor Toews<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-rome/
