The ascending spirit

If the small places vanish, where shall my soul lie down? where shall it drink of stillness and remember its peace. i am trapped in a land of empty worship, where hope rings hollow in the mountains. The trees... once rooted in sacred soil... are torn up. replaced with false sanctuaries and monuments to the idols of men, their thrones bone and flesh. the Spirit has departed, the fire that once refined, has lifted from this sacred ground and it is left baren of its holiness.