St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church Blues Poem by Lora Cooley

The choir sing out that strong, ceaseless chorus here
So sweet, like leaves in the street
A celebration for hope and refuse
To keep each other Keep warm
Outside in the parking lot
They keep the old hymn rolling on and on and
I see the color of that old abandon
I have gone the same way
Flourished and in flux, fluctuate each year unclear
The violent crime rising
That parking lot grew dim and thin of sinners and saints
The voices faded to black
The weeds stormed the concrete
It had to know that glory never comes back
I could feel it, the passion that left
The last of what I had
It had to know like I knew
Now standing vacant, empty of faith
Soon one more year will pass
No one to gather here to sing for a hope to carry on, to carry through
I've been thinking about how sometimes a home of stone grows so empty over time
What gave people purpose, past death approaching constantly, is now left to crumble slowly, now left to wither with the weeds, now left to ice and vandles
But a stained-glass window sits untouched
A symbol of beauty only perfect at that moment we were born
And the other day I saw a man
I saw him lift a rag to wash the years of filth from off those windows
Made me wonder if there's anyone like that for you and me
And anybody else whose broke and lost hope