High ceiling
Beams of great elegance
No human could of made these forms
No other cathedral was made of wood
The lively frescoes
Changing
From light blue skies
To night dark stars
Sacred is this place
Heart of an everchanging land
Old as time itself
Unmoved by the triffles of our lives
Ancient
Yet it is too open
Too old
Too great
No other man will come to wander these paths
Other than myself
They are too afraid
The age of these tree trunks
Will veer away any mystic
Any believer of supertition
No walls holding the spaces within
Agoraphobia
Opposed to the other
I feel whenever I walk in these age old halls
There is nothing to save me
This is where the wild animals roam
Who will rescue me if a wild animal jumps for the kill
Who will take me safely home?
Wooden Cathedral
