Mourning Prayers

It is dark outside,
so early no light peers over the quarry walls
that surround your house
like ruins of a forgotten castle.

Somewhere there must be clouds.
No stars penetrate the blackness.
No wind punctuates it.

It is purgatory still

and you are alone with your prayers,
alone with God
and the deepest secrets of your heart –
there is nothing else, just you

and maybe, just maybe, him.

Alone, you could dance, curse, cry
and it would be all the same
to a world so dark and November cold.

You choose to pray,
a silent prayer so deep it does not need words.
so deep, words would only dilute it.
silently

the truth of your heart in all it’s weakness
and pride, strength and fractured truth
rises like a star

waiting to be born.

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Unfortunately I cannot remember which church I took this picture at. It’s in New York CIty, about a block from the NFL headquarters on Park Avenue.

Sometimes, when we think of New York, we think of tall buildings and a larger than life landscape. But tucked in that landscape of commerce are some of the most beautiful churches in America, small oasis’ of faith, nearly always open for a weary soul. When you are downtown, you are almost always near one of them, and when I have to go into the city to work, I try to schedule a little extra time to visit them, photograph them, and pray. It makes my trips more worthwhile, somehow.

Tom