Small City Church

The door stood open and, not knowing why,
I left the clamour of the city street, ,
And sliped inside,
Cool silence came to greet me like a balm, as
Though it could edify my wrong.
But not the background of the passers-by.

And inside the little church show that
centuries of prayer defeat.
The constant onslaught of man's noise.
Not discreet.
Beside the prayer-books one could buy
A simple candle..
I wondered why.
Greatfully from my worn out satchel
The worldy sum did come.

From a deep unknown spot
A flame now began to trot
From inside me.
Left a dancing little flame to be.
Deep in a corner where the shadows played.
Pushes back the darkness which is a plague.
In fancy I inscribed it with my name.
A small acknowledgement from one who strayed...
In off the street.
To greet the next who looking for him to meet.

poem by Howard Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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