An unholy fire frolicked
through
in Holy Week last night swallowing
at a few gulps what was in
for near two hundred years;
this soul and harbinger
of gothic art and architecture
whose spire still pointed proudly up to heaven
after philistine world wars
and years of human hurricanes, suddenly
collapsed losing much of its innards;
flames stained the glass and darkened windows
and the light dimmed sadly over France.
Paris and the world stand aghast
at what seems now just a ghost
of this universal icon of art of several ages;
sad, that it was not insured full proof
against ruination; its fancy wood,
provided welcome fuel for the fire.
The call for funs to build again
this monument
to medieval genius, resonates loudly across
the coffers of the world even though
some treasures are forever lost.
Holy men are gathering relics
or what is left of them
like the blood-stained crown of thorns
which they say mocked Jesus Christ,
and consummated our salvation.
An unholy fire rampaged
through notre dame in Holy Week,
destroying sacred things with tears,
and mourning in the street;
in Montserrat the third geothermal well
ended up in smoke in Holy Week.
