when bells
are nearly broken
tho chords
are hanging still
when the choir
folds together
with their silks
when hymns are dashed
as silence earned
banging on
our knees
sore and bruised
the busted
falling down
when truth
we swore would save us
becomes the last
we seek
as walls to spy
flame is all
we breathe
curses pulled
around us
pleas for something
more
to ease the ache
of missing –
to find
what we came for
. . .
Author’s Note: Sometimes there is no image worthy of the words. Sometimes, I fall willingly.
tornadoday 