A poem.

A poem I wrote recently about an experience I had watching a little girl in the Duomo in Florence on a freezing cold rainy day. Your critique is welcome.

The Florence Duomo

A chilled cathedral, dark and dank

In sullen silence stands of stone

Torrential rain beats at the planks

And I, within, observe alone.

The tired shoulders, bended backs

And hopeless handclasps enter through

With burdened souls in torment racked

In ways that words cannot construe.

Confusion seeps in seeking light

But answers go unquestioned here

The many wond’ring “Where is right?”

Are shushed by reason: cold, austere.

Now past me faceless faces go

Expressions hungry for relief

It’s hard to let a feeling show

As imperceptible as grief

Then suddenly I see her face

All curious and rosy round

She squirms, escaping dad’s embrace

And plants two feet upon the ground

And all at once she’s running fast

Unsteady but with all her might

Determination unsurpassed

Towards a faint and flick’ring light

Tea candles lit by those in need

Are on a stand and placed in rows

She races towards them at full speed

And reaches them, her smile aglow.

Though oft in shadow we reside

Our childlike natures recognize

That in the warmth and light abide

A permanent celestial prize.

And in that moment I could see

Discomfort stemming from the dark

These people longing to be free

Require someone to start a spark.