Ribcave

A gentle cavern is cracked and gaping,
With steady walls that curve to wrap and hold.
Its contents are bare, free for the taking,

Though you won’t find jewels, nor silver, nor gold.
No carpets covering the crystal flats,
Nor anything rare to be bought or sold.

Clematis vines climbing the bone white slats
That point the way deeper into the rooms
Where salt water trails build up columned flutes.

From the depths of the gloaming, hollow booms
Reverb across the scarlet marble floors
And count down the days and times that are soon

When Heaven throws open her brazen doors,
Lays bare ev’ry nook and cranny therein
And fractured halls are finally restored.

There will be no more darkness, dead and grim.
New breath will drive out the gasp of the grave.
Shrouds become swaddling cloths with gold trim.

A temple will stand where once was a cave,
Echoing the cries of a newborn babe.

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