Holy War

Our brutish bullets' babble

Battered this cathedral,

Corroded ancient heavens

That dawned in its arching dome,

Crumbled blue-veined marble,

Shattered angels' sorrow,

As gods began to groan. 

Their rose windows furrowed,

Spires gone tomorrow,

They buried us in rubble

As our Savior fell from home. 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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