How many of these gleaming, lifeless stones,
Will you erect and dedicate with hollow prayer?
Will the hordes of idols never be enough?
The mystic scenes that decorate your domes?
Even in the silence I cannot worship here,
Plagued by the clutter of this gaudy stuff.
I see your stones, how they have crumbled down,
By fire and flood they disappeared below,
And yet you willed to raise them up again,
Like kings in quicksand groping at their crown.
City upon cities, how can you cherish so
The fame and games of evil, piggish men?
You did not turn one inch from pagan gods,
You only introduced an ornate cross,
Gilded with gems and backed by vivid paint
Depicting passion as only heathens could,
Oh Rome, where all that’s true is lost,
Take incense, idols, papal crowns and saints
Give me my Savior’s cross of splintered wood.
Trevor Toews
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-rome/
