by Daniel Belcher

Created on: June 27, 2010

He sat quietly
as if in a trance.
He was thankful
for the nice soft pew.

The words of the preacher
thundered in his head.
His mind was held steady
and unable to move.

The words continued
to fall like hale.
he looked for a refuge.
But he found none.
No safe hiding place.

He was thankful
for the warm temperature.
Staring,
he watched the minister
cast wave after wave of spiritual fire.

The smell of spiritual smoke
was heavy in the air.
Rolling through the pew
in thick invisible bellows

Charred residue
lingered in the ashes.
Hopefully,
one day
the wounds will heal

They will heal
in time
but with a lasting mark
of remembrance.

Straightening his back
He breathes deeply and sighs.
All is not lost
nor the day forsaken.

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