Budapest & Prague
St. Vitus Cathedral, Prague
Thy solemn spires, stood silent for centuries
A pattern punctured, precisely into the sapphire.
Brief is the breeze, that crossed the breach
Into the marble mass, and is made still.
The echoes of effigies, etched on alabaster
With their nudging nuances, reverberating near.
Hoisted and hallowed, the ceilings hang hushed
Clergies, colonels a many, casted under their scrutiny.
The Infant imprinted, as iridescent memoirs.
Their rippling radiance make rubescent the repertoires
Of crystallised colours, caressed by the sun,
Whose light liberates the lament of calvary.
Revelling in reverence, those regal adornments
of the house for the Highest, or your highness instead?
Vastly visited, its veneer celebrated
With conversations and cameras. Consecrated, no more.
—Julia Wong, 2015