I have stood a century against the expanse of sky,
clear and blue as the faith that forged me.
I hear fire station sirens,
prayers that never reach
the heavens.
The sun still loves this place.
His rays gild my tiles, soft fire by midday.
Gas stations hum in neon tongues,
pawn shops and bail bonds whisper
together, deals for anyone
who has already lost.
My dome gleams, a beacon,
before gold fades to amber by evening.
Taco trucks incense the air
with the sticky scent of survival.
Tire shops grind out tough songs
of asphalt.
Beneath me, she rots.
Her stones exhausted,
their faces discolored.
A McDonald’s buzzes beneath,
golden arches mimicking eternity.
Signs of decay spread like doubt.
Her walls have begun to crumble,
echoes of prayers mumbled within.
I feel the weight shifting,
the quiet betrayal.
How long do domes of faith
defy time’s growing gravity?
I still hold my crucifix high,
though my arm aches.
For those who look up
for something to believe,
I stand till the last stone breaks.
About the Author: Jacob Friesenhahn is the author of the poetry collection The Prayer of the Mantis (Kelsay Books, 2025). This poem was first published in Texas Poetry Assignment on 10 December 2024. Image credit: the author.