Letras
The nave was carved from softened thought,
Its arches built by those forgot.
No saints remain to mark the pews,
Just hollow names in fading hues.
Choirs of null hum dirges low,
Each note a wound, each chord a "no".
I knelt where prayers were once unspoke,
And tasted dust from dreams revoked.
No self shall rise. No echo sing.
All steps are lost beneath this wing.
Oh Basilica, cradle of gone,
Unmake my shape, let me be none.
Scrape from my eyes the sight of form,
And cast me back to a pre-born storm.
My face did drip from mirrored stone,
Reflections flensed till I was bone.
The altar bled with inkless rites,
Where monks transcribed extinguished lights.
Unbeing is not death but drip,
A leak of thought from time's cracked lip.
Oh Basilica, cradle of gone,
Unmake my shape, let me be none.
Scrape from my eyes the sight of form,
And cast me back to a pre-born storm.
Stained glass of skin and phantom thread,
Depicted saints who'd never bled.
I passed the pulpit made of veils,
And sang the hymn that unravels tales.
Here lie the selves who could not stay,
Flensed from fate, unbirthed by day.
Let them rest in featureless grace,
Folded in this formless place.
O Basilica, with ribs of shade,
I give thee all I am unmade.
No tomb, no name, no psalm, no kin,
Let not the world recall I'd been.