I had a lot of trouble with this one.
The young monk stands in the nave
Staring up towards the ceiling so far far away
A flicker of gold and images of saints
Gaze down, indifferent, upon him
The perfumed air of the cathedral
Rich and layered with the centuries
A simple brown robe cloaks his thin frame
Plain and unadorned, stark contrast
To the ornate building where he stands.
Casting gaze downward, past the
Multi-hued rose high on the wall
to the high altar and the crucifix of gold.
Moving silently aside, he crosses himself
And kneels to pray. Quietly murmuring
His meditations cracked open by a
Shrill, harsh outburst from behind.
"Oh honey, look, he's prayin'! Take a picture!"
"You betcha', babe, that's a keeper!"
The young monk closes his eyes and
Prays for patience to endure what he's
Come to detest. God Damn Tourists.