This pious man sat reading as the World outside collapsed.

His family on their knees in prayer as savages attacked.

Their miracle stayed in the book. No hand of God ... Left on the hook..

No one risked a furtive look as Hell rained on for hours..

And from the powder on the plain they salvaged one small cross and chain .

They marked the spot. They chose a name

And built a stained glass tower.

Now pilgrims flock from far off lands to fall on swords and run their hands through holy grit and blackened sand just so they can cower..

At the all prevailing mighty myth that preaches love yet waves a fist that we will cradle, kiss and lift.

Cos we don't have the power!