I arrive home at last
to the chapel tucked in the edges
of the seething wood.
The parishioners–
parsed pieces of the same willful soul–
have long abandoned their worship.
Twilight speaks softly
to the markers of the dead;
the steeple bell still, though
its rope rocks lazy in the wind.
Sigh and relief to
step inside– a release.
The stained glass shivers
in fading exultations.
The altar heaves
under the burden of confession.
The old floors groan
from the memory
of the pounding–
the Glory Hallelujah.
I shed my cloak
my garments of shame
for in this place–
and only in this place–
am I fully known.
I bow my head and
kneel in supplication.
Alone
save the ghosts
and the dust on the pews
and the snow outside
that floats
muffles
and chills
the heat
of my wicked blood.
Mercifully
silence has fallen.
Author’s Note (added 1/12/12): I love this poem. I left it here because to me it represents serenity. I will tell you that as I wrote the poem, the Chapel represents my own soul… perhaps you’ll read it again with a deeper understanding.
Hey Christy, I like your blog.