In Winter - you were my Temple, an altar
that diffused incense to benches overcrowded with faith,
where repentance was:
two naked knees knelt down on bare floors,
two hands facing each other with prayers,
and two eyes staring at a cross with a vibrant trust for peace.
Yet within chest, a heart boiled blood through veins
with an ache capable of bringing down
even the strongest of man.
In Spring - you were my Home, the nave
where I heard the 7:00 am bells call out my name,
where I awoke to romanesque windows refracting the sun
into a rainbow. A rainbow of sheer joy encompassed
between aisles and aisles of silence,
And where somewhere in the back,
the smell of dark chocolate milk made me feel lost.
I felt lost like a paper clip scattered in the Sacristy,
with no purpose, other than to hold the
bulletin papers in my hands.
In Summer - you became my Soul, the statue
everyone saw passed the road and proudly uttered:
"That's my church."
I instantly felt nostalgic when reading this...it reminded of the days when I was a little and my mom would take me to church. And just witnessing the many people in deep prayer, while I twiddle my thumbs naive to everything but my own childish thoughts.
"with no purpose, other than to held the"
^I believe held should be hold here.