The church remembers wasted deaths
With our lion and unicorn family crest,
The last of the Saxons
According to the Barking nuns.
The king-sized cross is raised to cover
Whatever devastation occurs,
As it always does.
A ghost electric light malfunctions.
Rome set up London.
A temple of Mithras was discovered by chance.
The wheel head cross for bending minds
Found underneath 1942's rubble.
One can still feel the energy
In the Saxon stone
Of the alcove where the confessions were forced
By force words or, if necessary, bars.
The martyrs fell asleep before submitting.
Their blissful face is in stone
Like the old gold-leafed cross.
They rested in peace on their rock pillows.
There's a full stock of wines in a fridge
And cold Camden Beer
By the coat racks,
In lieu of a gift shop.
