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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Emerging from a doorway shadow Through thick air - sweet with incense - Comes a dark figure dressed in a robe To be near the altar in silence. The trappings pierce the dark with gold. Upon him fall the eyes of those saints Portraying the centuries of old And every breeze makes them shift shape. His fist is clenched over his rosary As he mutters a prayer of small sound. The peace is sacred and momentary And it speaks to a heart as cold as stone. Over the ghostly flames of candles - His vacant eyes go up a tower And he thinks he hears That which shrills: The Bells - the Bells of San Xavier. As his prayer hovers in the smoke He remembers priests who've come and gone And there lingers a bitter hope To join them and the angels among. He struggles against purgatory That curses him for reasons unknown. His life on Earth was exemplary But God has not yet called him home. Visions of yesteryear play back And thoughts of one woman remain. Surely loving kindness is not bad. He wonders if his life was in vain Then shaking off the feeling of sin - Returns the passion by which he sware And with that spirit Fighting rings vivid The Bells - the Bells of San Xavier. Echoes of laughter come down the hall - High-pitched on the ears - innocent - Broken by children coming through the wall - Dead for so long they think nothing of it. They are translucent in the moon's glow Like a rushing wind for the fire Released their essence many moons ago. Behind them follows a Sister. Like a father who loves his children He draws them nigh with nothing said. Their twinkling eyes cause him to grin. He blesses each one upon their head. With the cares of his heart made light - The nun chases them into the air As if their flight Was called by that night The Bells - the Bells of San Xavier. Once again - he is left with his thoughts And he turns to face the empty pews. The hope of the church has not been lost; The energy felt there is profuse. Off to the side - he gazes upon the bones - The bones of a Padre behind glass - So old and brown they could pass for stones With an expression frozen like a mask. Again - he thinks of the tower up high So he whispers an apology to the Padre And swears that before the Age passes by He will finish the church with bells someway. A breeze comes in and puts out some wicks And halts that concern of loving care But through the darkness Rings true his promise: The Bells - the Bells of San Xavier.
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