I Know Not.

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Heave against the large wooden door
Dim and cool with its incense.
Catch the candles flickering glow
Burning for whom, I know not.

Gaze at the ceiling of painted faces,
With bishops, a priest and a nun.
A mosaic of a man on the cross on the wall
With Saints, of whom, I know not.

A woman’s murmur her lips barely move,
From behind me her head scarved and bowed.
Ignoring the snarl of the cars and the trucks
On their way somewhere, I know not.

Another bends to light her candle
Shoulders upright with hope
And stops before him to pray for herself
Or for others, whom I know not.

The old lady shuffles and squints up at me,
Sadness yet life on her face.
She crosses herself and rests on the pew,
To contemplate what, I know not.

The solitude and peace spread its respect
Inside the cavernous space.
The light from the sun twinkles its message
From somewhere beyond, I know not.

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I can’t write about . . .

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I can’t write,
About you,
My friend.
Your laugh,
Your stories,
Your pain.
Our tears,
Our desires,
Our secrets.
You left too soon,
I don’t know why.
I wasn’t ready for,
Our friendships’ end,
I still wait for the call,
That can’t ever be made
By you,
By me,
For us,
My friend.