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Tuesday, November 30, 2004

An Evening In Church

In the quiet that only comes with being alone,
In the gentle darkness, save for the rose window lit behind me
and the small red light that burns over the preacher's pulpit always,
after the light on the piano was turned off,
after losing myself for
I'm not sure how long.
How different this place is when here all alone,
than with it full of people praying and dozing and
children waiting impatiently for their agony to end.
Trying to recall the message given to the faithful earlier
but this house has silenced every word. This house will have none of it.
The darkness has washed this house clean,
with no trace of the morning's activity but for a folded bulletin
in a vacant pew.
The worshippers have gone, and this house now
breathes easy.
No matter how long I go on,
Until my fingers cramp and my mind grows weary,
this house will listen.
For that, and the rose window, and the small red light that
burns always over the preacher's pulpit, I am thankful.
And this house seems to bid me, continue.

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