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Poem

Maybe love is forever
Or at least long enough
Maybe devotion is definite
Or will at least last a lifetime
Maybe you can have everything in the palm of your hand
Because I once saw a man
With his world in his hands

Every Sunday at 8:30 am sharp
The golden hour of the morning
When the sun is warming
Not yet burning
When the day is unsteady
And the night is far off
Despite knees worn down
By work and walking, wandering
They find a place in the pew
And he kneels despite age
Despite pain in the joints she used to tend
Despite unkempt hair she used to tame
Every Sunday at 8:30 am sharp
He's there, and he kneels
He kneels before God
and he kneels before the angels
Among them I feel as if he sees her
More beautiful than the sunsets they saw on their porch
More beautiful than the day he saw her down the aisle
More beautiful even than the day they first met
All those years ago
Angels have wings, and humans have cursed eyes
The world is cruel, but God is merciful
The man kneels, and pulls out a picture
A picture of an angel
And he holds her in his palm
He holds his world in his palm
He holds her to his heart
He lets his world hear the beat
And I think he prays in the darkness his eyelids provide
And I think he finds a way to see her
The angel cutting through the dark
The golden hour before the night
But as all good does
The moment is broken by the bells of the Chruch
He kisses the photo, the next closest thing
To his angel, his world

Maybe love is forever
The man who held his world in his hands 
Sure does believe it
And I think I believe him too.

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