Multyfarnham Abbey

Sandstone speckled stone walls,
in eventide communicate sun’s
daily worship.
Atmosphere is tensed by sweat
of brow and hands of prayer.
As pilgrims our hearts and minds
haunt these hallowed walls.
As spectators we appear from a
world pagan to this.
The difference is where to be found?
These monks seem just like us,
our egoisms, our eccentricities,
our jealousies are there within
the hands of prayer.
The hands of one of prayer point
us to the secret.
As spectators secrecy remains locked
within itself.
But as pilgrims secrecy becomes unlocked.
The key to unlock is ‘touched cloister.’
Extremities, corners, all parts touch cloister.
Hands of prayer and of life all point to Christ
as cloister.
Christ is our cloister therein lies our secret.

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