Sunday, October 14, 2018

FRIENDSHIP AT THE CHURCH.


Friendship at the Church

A little church sits on the end
of the road,
face forward towards the rolling hills.
The rolling hills are like green water,
that stop and move against the sun.
Over light, over darkness, the thing
breathes,
and sunshine sparkles like dew.
Some friends go and some friends come;
but in the deepness, the green grass grew.
Like flowers, I pour the darkness from my
hands,
and the old church bell chimes.
I am the nothingness that is in your mind,
I am a weathered vine.
All hope is through.
The church is painted white, like a ghost;
the bell shimmers bright like a silver host.
The anger moves vast like a wave of sea,
in it is you and me.
Follow like sorrow, the night that grew,
in it, hope waves like time anew.
Sometimes, we forget to pretend,
that all things are the same.
And the church still stands at the end
of the old road with the forgotten name.


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