Slender beams of moonlight enter
this darkened church as I kneel,
always somber, always silent,
Robed forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
sparing not my exposed soul.
Paleness on a lover's face.
I raise my head, now kneeling before
this oblivious darkness.
I think I'll go look at my holiday pictures with the nice graveyard.