Alexis Foran
The house with the red brick walls
Dripping blood from some saint
The whispers echo in the night
They know what does not belong
They complain I am stained
And not the pretty kind of arched windows at cathedrals
Worshipping at the altar of some ancient cathedrals
Frescoes adorn the walls
The glass fragile, vivid and stained
Delicate prayers from the lips of a saint
Here is where I don’t belong
Casting myself out into the night
Join me in the star adorned night
We will mourn our losses outside tall, decadent cathedrals
Can this be where souls belong?
Stuck in the walls
Listening to tears drop from the cheeks of a saint
We can both see the face is stained
The carpet is stained
I can’t help but to drag it out into the dark night
Pray for the martyred saint
The blood will flow in the street to the cathedrals
Nothing but walls
Above and below belong
You obstruct more than you belong
As a child, you were told you were stained
You can hear your mother sob through the walls
It’s never quiet enough for you at night
The empty, echoing cathedrals
Will your prayers find the right saint?
I am the saint
That doesn’t belong
Amongst the vaulted backs of cathedrals
My skirt is stained
These observations die at night
Trapped within paper-thin walls
Forgetting which of us is stained
Surge water swells into the night
Knocking down the walls