from musty halls with creak-loud benches
we kneel and pray
and watch through stained-
glass windows
the rain patter
as the voices rise
and weep and mourn
for days of rejoicing
not long past

but apparent is not so true…

the glass once stained with
steady hand and careful grace
no longer holds its colour

for the stain consists
of war-torn souls
and the rain
is the tears
of children orphaned
and the benches creak
under the weight
of ghosts

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: https://lindaghill.com/2016/05/06/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-716/