Notre Dame

Le Reine de Paris est parti
Le monde pleure

If only tears could extinguish the
horrible yellow flames.

A sacred place of solace and celebration
for 800 years, she writhes in pain,
her walls quivering from the furnace
of heat.  Even in her agony she glows.

A jagged emptiness in the sacred tapestry
of life now exists.  A essential piece of
of the fabric has been torn away.  Saints
bow their heads in grief, angels watch in
numb silence.  Heaven mourns.

On the streets of Paris, people gather in
speechless reverence, hands raised to
the glowing night sky, a benediction of
blessing as embers disappear into the darkness.

Cendres aux cendres
La poussiere a la poussiere

But no tomb can hold her.
Easter will come.