A God That Is Yours

Slender beams of illumination enter
this darkened church as I kneel,
always in prayer, always a slave,
frozen here,
waiting.

Angelic forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
penetrating my shamed outstretched arms.

A reflection on a deathless face.

I raise my head, now crying out for
this oblivious mortality.