The Whisper That Stayed

There's something in the walls tonight,

soft as breath and twice as near.

Thane candles bend as if in prayer,

though no one's name was spoken here.

The air tastes old, like memory's dust,

the kind that clings to hymns half sung.

A choir hums wehre no mouths move,

and bells ring where no ropes are hung.

I feel a hand that has no weight,

tacing grace upon my chest.

The shadows kneel, the silence swells,

and fear and faith make no protest.

A pressence lingers, unseen yet known,

the chill the warmth, the host.

And now I understand the name they give it...the Holy Ghost