The inspiration for this poem came when I was strolling about our church's empty sanctuary. I do not find this poem perfect, but I enjoyed writing the imagery, and I love reading it as well.
A spacious room with wooden walls,
White tiles over the floor;
A carpet where the shadow falls,
Small boxes by the door,
Four-columned pews in mannered lines,
Five steps towards the stage,
A pulpit wires and screens define,
Two vases—flow’rs don’t age,
A piano on the speaker’s right,
An organ to the left,
A drum set tops the choir room’s flight,
A book the pianist left,
Two screens announcing nothingness,
Two tow’ring panes of glass,
Some scattered forms for ev’rythingness,
A stack of Supper’s brass
Upon the table, oh so big,
More wires squirm on the floor,
Some dust the naughty kids will dig,
More wires and more and more,
An echo through the empty space,
No lights to show the way,
Communion’s blanket made of lace,
A beckoning to stay,
How warm the welcome there for me,
When weighed by pain and loss,
I step inside our sanc’tuary
And gaze upon that cross.
