The Old Faith Still Flows Deep Inside The Heart Of Me Poem by DM W

I can sense the rich scent of incense in the haze
Of incomparable, sacred yesterdays.
Bold metaphors of pure gold still
Burn through my Catholic veins like vital blood.

I hear the Angels' prolonged lamentations
In the fevered realms of faithless night.
I perceive the abyss' countenance as it sneers at creation.
Profound symbols disintegrate into mere signs.

Where is the deep communion
In an age of instant access?
Where are the noble Beatitudes
In a world of wanton excess?

I await the coming spring time
Of a greater light that will seep
Through the cracks in our dreams;
And our elaborate but superficial designs.