The door creaked open before I could think,
dust rising like old prayers.
Sunlight slanted through broken stained glass,
painting colors I didn’t know were still alive.
I sat in a pew that had forgotten my weight,
and for a moment, I felt the silence answer me.
Why had I come here alone,
to a church abandoned by everyone but ghosts?
The pulpit leaned like it had secrets to tell,
and I wondered if anyone had ever
left their sorrow here,
hoping it would stay behind.
I touched the cold wood and felt my own hands shiver,
remembering the faith I’d lost in pieces
and the words I never said aloud.
Can a place teach you how to forgive yourself?
I left with shoes heavy and heart lighter,
the echoes of hymns still wrapped around me.
Do you ever find yourself in places
where the walls seem to hold your own story?
Maybe abandonment isn’t always empty.
Sometimes it’s just waiting for us to notice.
About the Creator
John Smith
Man is mortal.
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Comments (1)
Wow. There’s a silence within this, the silence if sacred spaces, the silence you feel instead of hear, essentially the silence that’s necessary to hear God or your own heart or whatever name you have for it. This is poignantly, quietly beautiful. 💖