We were visiting Naples and I saw some bells in a ruined tower just visible at the end of an alley. The poem came 15 years later!
The bells were still there
hanging in the ruined tower,
sounds but a memory.
Calls to worship,
calls to shelter
calls to grieve
to rejoice
now left silent,
impotent.
Just a belief remained
although now quiet
they once were
beckoning
each of us
to gather as one
and perhaps
could once more.
Ready for a miracle
the pull of a rope
gravity defied
waiting forthe faithful to rise,
to come, together again.
Waiting,
watching
For that day.
