Worn

January 1, 2025

Worn

The cross is bowing
Worn smooth by ceaseless prayers
Etched by dust

Pleas hang brittle in stifling air
Pews creak under bodies
Kneeling out of habit and not hope

The son slips and shadows pool
There is no solace in silence
Only seeds waiting for rain to fall

-nl
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Posted in Poems and tagged poems.

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