Pantheon

A dome of geometric shapes,

A circle full of squares,

With a central hole up in the roof,

To let out all the prayers.

Statues stand and overlook,

As people mill around.

The dome requests some silence,

Merges, muffles every sound.

The noises can’t be deciphered,

So seem not to count in the same way.

The hole to heaven hangs over,

As we sit and rest and pray.