a Poem

In commenting on Tripp's post on sunday school, I said I would post a poem about my childhood experience of church. So here it is.
Holy Samsara: Memories of Death and Rebirth
"May the Lord bless you and keep you
may His face shine upon you
and bring you peace.
In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen"
blessing spoken with raised arms
dismissing us from the devotion of word and song
The holy silence slowly punctured
by the needle of hushed greetings
exploding into the echoing chatter of the narthex
that passge greeting us with a new week
reborn into the cycle of life
the one hour of holy gestation forgotten
in the brigh light of the week
we were prophets of the coming week
or fatalist speaking our karma
the old women gathered with news
gray hairs shaking appropriately

in the narthex our past lives were remembered
redreborn from holiness to the profane
we lived in that hall
we came and died
leaving all behind for an hour of communion
waiting our reserrection to new life

in that narthex we (as children)
could run, play tag, or hide and seek
dogding the legs of those reborn adults
pronouncing theri past, articulating their future
oblivious to that holy womb
until we in skirts and pressed pants dared venture
with flushed faces and shrill child voices into that place
the sanctuary
then the withered hunched oranist would rise to her fullness
her voice thundered
and our parents were shamed
by our desecration of holy silence
our child voicea and pounding feet
could fill every corner of the church building
except here in paradise
guarded by archanges clothed in wrinkled sikin
wielding flaming sward of family shame

this was our existence
our unwitting birth and rebirth
our death and resurrection
the eternal cylcle of holy silence
in the pure sacred womb of word and song
and blessed narthex chatter of gossip complaint and laughter
each week born again from silent sanctuary