A place of palaces

When I was younger – beginning in high school – I papered my walls with poems that I found. Rediscovering them years later is fun.

And while more recent recollections are easily dredged up, certain flavors of nostalgia make me want to go wander through the old, old ruins that are found across oceans.

I Have Been Through The Gates
Charlotte Mew (1869 – 1928)

His heart to me, was a place of palaces
And pinnacles and shining towers;
I saw it then as we see things in dreams,
I do not remember how long I slept;
I remember the tress, and the high, white walls,
And how the sun was always on the towers;
The walls are standing to-day, and the gates;
I have been through the gates, I have groped,
I have crept back, back.
There is dust in the streets, and blood;
They are empty; darkness is over them;
His heart is a place with the lights gone out,
Forsaken by great winds and the heavenly rain,
Unclean and unswept,
Like the heart of the holy city,
Old blind, beautiful Jerusalem;
Over which Christ wept.

Ruins of a nearly thousand-year-old monastery in Santiago.

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One Response to A place of palaces

  1. annadefenestrated says:

    Love this. Love the screaming silent horror of discovering. But it’s about love maturing. Or perspective. Which is what we all need.

    “His heart is a place with the lights gone out.” love

    Also love the fact that you moved the comments down to be at the end of the post. The other way was frustrating.

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