Myrrh fills the darkness of the room.
The faint red light, over the altar of God.
The eyes of ancients looming down.
Stuck on the walls, in eternity.
Since Adam.
Men in black cassocks.
Women in veils.
They burn incense and cry to heaven, they dwell here with God.
Pleading with their mother, for her prayers to God, droning together,
"Ave maria, gratia plena,..."
Ave maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum..."
Suddenly a hand bell rings.
And sung like an announcement, like angels after a trumpet,
"GLORY-AAAAH!
Patri et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto..."
I breathe in and smell.
Smoke, burned wax, damp mold, decay, soil, and poverty.
But it's so clean in here.
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