Desecrated temples

Temples in decay have stories
different names decorating ancient themes:
they rise from the shrub of abandonment
cries stifled in mid-air horror
as straying drives away from path
and over cliff,
their altars crumble
for want of flowery word
and clasped hands
in those timeless
rituals of evermore love
grass peep from stone-edge
listening for footfall
that tripped on word-edge
bled blood that will not stain
the marbled floors
of happy othernesses,
there no doors
hanging from rusty hinges
for temples of the heart
are doorless and unforbidding,
devoted ghosts make pilgrimage
but swing away at inquiry
wade into unwritten love-letters
consuming ink and heartache,
decayed but not desecrated   
they are guarded
by guard-stone heartness
dwarfed, yes 
but never wearied by waiting.

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