Within a hidden nook above our heads,
a vigil's kept, my chiseled guardian.
Below his stony gaze, our world now spreads;
his silent welcome leads and pulls me in.
I think myself a little like this stone—
a part and yet apart—I watch the show;
the players come, they go, and I'm alone.
I'm always waiting here; they always go.
I climbed that tower to end this fetid dream,
and found myself next to that grinning saint.
In sideways glance, a demon it would seem.
I jolted near the edge and soon felt faint.
In fear, I clutched the grotesque's crooked arm
and saved myself, embracing what I feared.
'Twas there, defended from my own self-harm,
from his cold lap, upon the world, I peered.
What I had seen, I saw with sight renewed,
for here the blessed dawn arose and with
unearthly beauty this dull earth imbued.
By earth or stone, I've seen the truth of myth.
And yet the monster stays outside the Church,
though he is part and plays a part, apart,
outside, he still remains upon his perch—
for though we love, we yet are not the heart.
Tale Told 