originally known as Come as you are
some personal poems about little 'ol life
and photos to entertain the eyes
poetry + fotas
I still see you in those old brown pews,
Quiet yet singing along. You never had to shout or stand, To say it was your favorite song. The left sanctuary was our family's place, It had an unspoken reserve. The rest of us were always late, But you and gram, always first. Before you ever needed a cane, Or your hips started to ache. You joined the men in aiding the church, And holding the collection plates. You always walked to altar call, And mentioned all of our names. Blessing our travels, homes and health, Each Sunday your prayer was the same. And when it came time to read His word, You placed you're glasses on your face, We stood and held the book as one, And always read at the perfect pace. But years went by, and you grew sick, Some days were better than worse. But then your name came under sick and shut-in, You couldn't even come to church. The oxygen tank bound you to home, Sometimes only to your chair, And the phone calls started to come each month, Saying the family need come here. I don't think I grasped the gravity, Of what could possibly come. While everyone worried about your heart, I imagined us holding the Book as one. To me, you were still in church, Handing me a dollar to donate back, Your hair was still full and knees not too weak, Strength, you did not lack. Church was a memory I had of you, Yet clouding what was to come. And then I found myself in church, But we weren't holding His book as one. Clad in black, I spoke to you, Still nothing seemed real. Until they closed your bed for good, And the tears began to spill. I don't know if I would ever go back And understand what was happening first. Even to this day, I see you smiling in faith, Sitting on that pew in church. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
February 2015
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