The windows portray

A complex problem and riddle of ages.

Who, what is, why,

And is God truly love?

Colours in conflict

Have no answers.

The arches, pointy, resolve

Into nothing – or into each other.

So too the God, spirit, who is

Invisible, mysterious, or … nothing –

Pure infinitesimal product of the soul’s aspiration,

Eternally mortal.

The gloom hangs still.

Up, up in the air,

The breath of organ pipes.

Breeding ground of lamps,

Ghostly images of the True Light

Or phantasy of God.

A human construct this is,

But a divine space;

Certainties of faith confused with

Enigmas of time and of place.

Can there just be,

In this space, plain sanctity?