No Saturnalia for me, this hinged moment

Fringed with nostalgia

Hollowed by regret

The cold flagstones of vaulted transepts

Cool any thoughts of libidinous excess

While ethereal voices march in measured unison

Through scented air

Chaliced genuflections rumble the room

In the midst of chaos

Of doomed cries

Rivers of tears

We seek the comfort of redemptive ceremony

Even if it’s only half as much as we need

It’s a step

Forward, in the right direction

And in this muffled peace

I find a place to dream my prayer

And release it

To the heavens


David Trudel  ©  2012



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