When the sky is a numbed grey and the ground is a paper machie of dead leaves, I lean on the prayers of my childhood. My mother's rosary beads are a steady rope. I kneel on the church pews and find comfort in the walls of red candles. The faces of the other travelers are mirrors of long winters with wilted flowers. I am just a brick, one of the many bricks and stones, rising as I evoke my faith - "Thy Will Be Done".
dawn is blue ink
as cardinals hop, coloring
spring on bare garden
Posted for dVerse poets Pub - OpenLinkNight. Drawing on the past week themes of faith by Mish and Holy Places by Amaya. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for the visit.
