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
