three hours
on the road
with nothing
but his own thoughts
to haunt
the cathedral
in his skull
drifting through
the dusty pews
where he has spent
so long
in the full adoration
of worship of ghosts
the fountain
long gone dry
the stained glass
covered
by thick cobwebs
that filter any light
into a drab
gray
he wonders
at sweeping the corners
but fears
disturbing the phantoms
of fears
of memory
long since gone
dormant
no
he will just sit
in quiet contemplation