Cathedrals
“We're not here to deify the fall, or canonize the ones who bleed. We're here to take what tried to kill us and build cathedrals from the seed.”
There’s a kind of poetry that stops at the bruise. It opens the wound and leaves it there — gaping, aching, unresolved. In a world where pain is currency, some wear their brokenness like royal garb, mistaking rawness for truth. But Cathedrals was written for those who go further. For the ones who take what hurt them and shape it. Who kneel in the dust of their undoing, not to mourn — but to build. This poem is not a hymn to suffering. It is an anthem of transformation. A blueprint for sacred architecture forged in silence, patience, and form. I wrote it with fire in my chest — not the fire of rage, but the kind that warms the hands of the builder. Line by line, it pushes against the culture of spectacle. It honors not the fall, but the rising. Not the chaos, but the craft. In every stanza, I laid a stone. In every image, a window. In every truth, a seed that might grow where once there was only ruin. *Cathedrals* is for those who choose to be more than survivors. It is for the poets who build sanctuaries from wreckage. The quiet elite. The sacred few. Read the full poem and analysis tomorrow 31.10.2025: https://alkonda.com/2025/10/31/the-poem-of-the-day-19/© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite