Day of the disciple

i come to walk through
gray leaves
lying in corners of
church tombstones—
they are heavy with sleep,
the dearly departed
lie beneath in cold earth,
dreaming
defeated dreams. …

i once saw the pierced
hands, now
copper downspouts as
crosses nailed to
church stone;
through stain glassed windows
i see closed pale eyelids,
and sorrow tossed into
collection plates. …

i enter into the religious vapor
with candles dim
and Sunday wanderers leafing
through the holy book,
i listened to a preacher man—
a proud, dreaming man
who flung the crown of words;
after, they feasted
on the holy, blessed food. …

i weep where the wind never blows
i kneel in the numberless years
my hands grow old,
i grasp my cross as to scythe
the common herd
of worshippers— aged, worn
out believers; i know which
way my journey lies. … bitterness
has made me see.

Copyright © 03/06/2016 lance sheridan®

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4 comments on “Day of the disciple

  1. What a true to life written word!! The voice in this is mellow with the richness of life; amazing images drift in to overtake this reader’s thoughts building them into imaginations of the written word. This is writing at its best, I’d say, “Excellent!”

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