He sits in the choir
in the same chair for 50 years
sings the same part
Once his hair was black and his voice could fill the sanctuary
this place he built with the others of his time
today he still sings, still does his part
as the lights that now dim
and the spot light focuses on the pulpit
and the young preacher beginning her sermon
on a text the old man has heard each of his 80 years
He knows the story well, it has filled his hunger and is etched on his heart.
Still the pastor tells it once again
as the man’s head leans forward
not in prayer but in sleep
which is the better gift, the word or the sleep?
Well that’s it for this week, just a short poem that I wrote when I should have been listening to the pastor preach.
Till Next week,
This experience is close to my heart, Andrew…years of singing alto and church attendance. Quality of live so poignant in your writing.
Thanks for your kind words. It is one goal of mine to try and capture a slice of life in my poetry.
Absolutely, you do that, Andrew.