Colton_Merrihew
I am whisper amongst the wind, a dead leaf carried by the breeze. I am the ember that'll burn you down. I am the one that got left behind.
"I am open, like the door on a church"
waiting
for you to come in.
To speak or to silently worship,
to confess or to marvel at the
wonder,
to grant me grace
and purpose.
For a church is nothing
but a building of divine devotion,
meaningless
without a mission.
Your words are not alms,
unless you will them to be.
They are
stones and sticks,
bones and bricks,
for building up
or throwing down.
For rising high
or weighing 'round
ascending hands to sky
or
planting feet in ground.
Speak them as you would build
or break
something dear.
Do not hurl them
carelessly at
sacred hearts.
They will fracture,
tearing apart leaded veins
bleeding white light
holes
through rainbow refraction.
They are meant to be offerings
presented with trembling
hands
palms cupped heaven word
giving as they receive.
An infinite loop:
Immeasurable,
inexhaustible
and boundless,
enduring
beyond the day
church doors drift close
and prayers become
forever silent.