The Monastery Poem by James Papastamos

The Monastery



Icons litter my walls with imagery and
imagination, protective yet progressive,
scented candles, their flames ascend
and liberate my world with the
light of the way…His way!
Divine Liturgy divides the speed of sound,
allowing for some to hear,
and as many to fear,
God’s every word.
My phone rings,
its church bells sing; and there’s
my oven to bake such humble pie;
a book of prayer
to shape an ever growing layer of dust well beneath,
but I’ve nothing to hide,
so just let it ride.
My doors are locked,
the blinds are down;
the power is off,
save the power of God!
His shining light illuminates my darkest hour,
with hands of time, as graceful
ballerinas mid air,
now shape the midnight air,
rape with such breezy flair,
to thus penetrate, if not wear,
this old monastery

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