PSALM OF THE TOURIST
- It’s cool inside the church, out of the sun:
We have to stop and wait to feel the place,
- but now we have to pay, we could always leave:
the people here are nice, they need our money.
- Embraced by this vast cathedral, huge and stately:
I feel an insignificance, looking upward,
- just think who built these stones and wooden seats:
the skills are awesome of people dead and gone.
- So I shall some time go, what will I leave:
Do I have skills to share and leave behind?
- Grandpa dies last week, and he’d been here:
my friend is worrying too, how can I help?
- Buildings are our history stretching backwards:
reminding us of other times, different, vibrant,
- for here have stood the great and famous people:
thousands of ordinary people to meet their God.
- A church is a place that’s full of people:
my life is formed of people making it special.
- Now we go back to the world outside:
seeming to feel better; thank you for presence.
- Is this all to do with God:
have I been there to pray, inside my head?
- It feels a different place, numinous, quiet:
it’s thousands of prayers held in stone.