(The prompt for this was from The Poetry Society to write about buildings)
House of Prayer
I wander the paths of this house with its lofty ceilings,
white washed, its the fresh lemon walls,
corridors maze in and out with pockets left and right,
a cubby hole here an occupied room there.
I come back to the landing with its skylight
shedding the day in sunlit beams to the ground floor,
peace springs off the bricks and paint, the plaster and wood.
Here everything is silent but I listen for the still small voice.
Icons pull me in to prayer,
I wander, I sit, I read,
I do it all again
Time is mine and I cherish it.
Joseph and the boy Jesus watch from the window ledge
as I eat my pasta lunch. I have the whole wooden table to myself.
I move from room to room recording it to memory
then pack up my Bible, my books and paper and take my leave.