7 sibley3

“Our Mother” Norte Dame gracefully placed by the Reine, a river which acts as a vein that pumps essential blood throughout my mind.

Blessed.

I sit at her feet and marvel at what unworldly beauty we humans have the potential to construct when in our right mind.

A young Man stumbles forward his arms bound to a board which he will be nailed to and crucified.
Creating the crucifix, a symbol of hope for the resurrection of man worldwide.

Grounded in the earth her beams speak to the divine, she was a witness to all the beauties and horrors acted out by mankind.

Throughout her shadows the sun permits a place of repose amongst the bright city lights.

Held within her arms, a homeless child seeks refuge from a world where she is not acknowledged as being alive. A flame, too big to confine, scorches her insides. Water flushed within her crux. The temperature is too hot and her sides crumble before Parisians’ awe struck eyes.

Mesmerized, this saintly structures fragility and sudden demise causes man to wonder just what do the crown of thorns mean which she has held inside?

Jesus Christ, a million miles and decades ago a person of the past, stumbles up the hill to his graveside. Mocked by the crowds which envelop his sides, he hears jeers that no person should provide.

Shouldering our sins, Jesus embraces his role amongst the divine.

Our Mother, Norte Dame, the parent who held out of sight the “crown of thorns” which Christ bore for all mankind.

Brought to her feet, all men bow within her scorched insides and pray for hope worldwide.

Slapped by a wave of truth, I had chosen to deny the death toll cuts into an unprecedented world of my time.

Norte Dame stands tall once again shouting from all sides that Mother Earth does not pick sides.

While all humankind buckle to the earths truths that in the end she, not I, will survive.

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