This poem was awarded third place in the Poetry section of our 2014 Inaugural Writing Competition.
* * *
Peering from the east side of Cuthbert’s
Final resting place is a hole
The size of a clenched fist,
Where one shard of colour
Is missing from a window
Beneath the perfect glass rose.
Perhaps some student caused the damage,
Hurling a stone skywards
As a friend leapt through the gaping
Prongs of the tree beneath,
Intoxicated by freedom.
Maybe it was a different story.
If you stand inside you’ll feel the light
Play the colours in a chorus, as a single
Untinkered beam maintains a steady beat.