“The Old Cathedral” (poem)

Poem dated 8/5/2022–

The Old Cathedral

by Noah Gallagher

I went to the Old Cathedral on Sunday

And through the echoing halls I stepped

It was a marvel of handiwork in antiquity

The stained glass shimmering onto polished marble floors

There was something so quiet about the place

A barrenness of life in each exquisite hall

Alone, I found a seat along a burnished pew

There in the gallant chapel.

An old couple approached and offered a tour

Though they confessed few ever came ’round anymore.

I gave a soft smile and told them yes

For their faces, though weathered, were yet full of zeal

Ardor that bloomed and sprang to life

As they showed me each grand stone room

Each moth-eaten book and quilt

And the moss that climbed through the seasoned basement

And they told me tales of countless years ago

When the Cathedral had been built by men

Riveted on God and King, devoted to their mission

Joined together in a chosen charge

To create a great and beautiful place

For gathering in common praise

The old halls rang with sound, then.

A statue of some ancient Saint, his face locked in stoic frown,

Looked upon me with graceful dignity

As though his stillness was merely by choice.

The tour was finished by and by

And with the elders waving, I retreated to the doors

Sounds of city enveloped

And the silent hall was overtaken

As I left the awesome Cathedral

Surrounded by wires and planes overhead

And the sights and sounds of young folks giggling

And old folks complaining

And cars rushing and trains whistling

And bright screens alight with culture trending

And shops all about with products promoting.

The old buildings in the city, I saw

Were all caked with dust and grit and grime

And new buildings built all over

Though clean, were imitable, disposable

And it seemed to me that they,

Like the statues in the parks, had nothing much at all to say.

A mingling sea of youth looked down; none

Glanced up at the Cathedral, nor did they enter through its doors

Surely in time, it would decay

And its looks would seem to match its worth

And the world wouldn’t notice

Nor ever think of what once was.

Silent, I stared back at the Old Cathedral

As I drove away alone

And I thought I would remember

How the ancient dead had spoke to me

Through their stupendous, staggering craft

For which they loved to sacrifice

In those former, quieter, tougher days.

All types of people in crowds around

Abuzz at home or in clubs and bars,

Spoke only of themselves and of each other

And built nothing, except that which amused

And which was accomplished quickly, and not meant to last.

I settled my eyes on the road ahead

And with solemn wistfulness, realized

The world will never see a new Cathedral.