The Old Monk

Arched stone sky inside.
Wide and high,
to heaven's holy eye.

Cold and warm.
Echoes and calm.
I extend an arm, palm upwards,
and feel the scented air.
White frankincense smoke.
I breathe deeply.

I came here,
and smelled its sweet vapours
eighty years ago, as a child.
Now I leave, grown.

I push open the great wooden entrance door,
that leads to the garden,
to the wall,
gate,
the moat,
the gravel driveway,
and the wide, green and vast outside world
that I have never seen, or known.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.