Occasionally, in this temple beneath strolling cloud
Away from the jostle and shove of the crowd
I worship, as night recedes in slow-motion.
It is no accident, this moment in time
Though darkness may clutch this temporal clime
Light can move through shadow, a soundless ocean
Dispelling the gloom beneath the sky
As the bustle and chat of passers-by
Consumes this tranquil breath upon the sod
I look up; the sacred silence is beginning to wane
Outside these walls, day must begin again…
To toil, to shop or play on this quest to death and God
Thank-you Viv, for this delicious combination of words.
There are so many directions in which they could lead!