I stood at the doorway,
Amidst the assembled devotees
Crowding the temple,
Their constant murmur filled the air;
Each had a chosen desire
Safe in their heart,
And a prayer on their lips
They had immense faith in their belief.
There was no prayer on my lips,
Only a small desire scraping my heart;
I stood there
And quietly watched the light play,
Gently upon the deity's serene face,
That very face I wanted to be mine.
Such is the strange thoughts,
That bothers me.
Sunday, March 7, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: thoughts