The Temple Poem by David Levitas

So full of error is our substance
So many faults that mar the fabric
Unpoint its smoothness, crack its rubric
That know we not, alone, unaided
The special mode that keeps the Keep unraided.

Our walls of flesh, they break their bounds
Or shrink within the fabrics mound.
The skin like paint it sears; once ripe
It soon its brightness blears, and snipes
The friend and neighbour that once upon its portals sup
But now as a ruin digs it up.

The rooms where we do breathe and joy,
Our senses; they do sustain like toys,
That fade with every passing passion
And pass unused for others fashion.
Well trod by hooves that feel for warmth;
The furnishings tawdry, threadbare,
Like remnents lay for others to outstare.

The heart that beats, the mind that cares,
They like ghosts lay deep the foundations bare,
That feeling oft and sensing pain, make truth
They hope, keep all from pain and ruth;
But oh, how swift does errors dart
The Keep upturn and break the heart,
And then the treasure upheld so long
Is a nothing thing, a bare song.