In a high valley overlooking the sea
Sits the new monastery, or so they call it,
Though it hasn’t been new for centuries,
And for centuries, but not as many, abandoned:
Now heritage of the past, leaving traces of art
And lives and prayers
– and no doubt a love of nature –
It’s still silent
But a different silence
Than there was before.

Lost in thoughts after the priest lied to his face
Sits a young man, though he’s aged up quite a bit,
Not over lengthy time but in a flash,
And in that moment, seemingly endless, abandoned
Delusions that emerges truth, if but traces and parts
Not lies and prayers
– and no doubt he fast matured –
He’s still silent
But a different silence
Than there was before.

Image in header: Nea Moni, Chios Island, Greece