Broken Domes

Stained are the broken domes. In sacred places. Sitting below them, Many teary eyed. Quietly wipe those tears cried. Stained are the broken domes. High over cracked and aged foundations. Leaving praying faith believers, Getting up off their knees to sit... Closer to exits. If from pews they must rush out quick. As a few begin to wonder if, Their faithfulness... Is hypocritical. And have they been, Too critical of others. Others not like them. Confessing sins. With them to do again. Under broken domes. More wonder if, Their claims of devotion... Is more a going through the motions. With nothing felt of faith that's real. No one outside and walking by, Wonders if... Broken Domes to witness. Are not, in fact, messages sent. Messages ignored. By those sitting under domes. Giving shade and charading, Their paraded pretense. Those stained and broken domes. Neglected like their foundations cracked. Says more without a word, From them heard. About the people who claim faith. To say it. But in their minds, That's not where their faith is at.