Church Bells of the Clock

Sunday sits unmoved.
The theater pipes on fire.
Restorative proved -
join the next door choir
in heart, soul, mind and strength of eye,  O God!

Paired with our pastor.
He wears grief well and joyous,
heav’n’s alabaster.
Suff’ring does not destroy us.
Precious silver and gold stored up,  O God!

His Spirit stirs us,
absent of steepled building.
Our faith’s profession,
together as church gilding,
one mediator between man and God.

So close and so far.
Only a quick winded walk.
Peace and calm, on par,
are the church bells of the clock.
Cruise left us scarred. Christ’s balm in hand. Glory!

All is well. The lift,
week away, our friendships keep -
with God there’s no rift.
Insufferable pride, let sleep -
All Knowing grants healing we need. Glory!

9/25/2022
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

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George Avatar
September 27, 2022 at 6:51 AM
"with God there’s no rift"..... ! Yes, when He is all love, there can be no rift. Beautiful poem on Sunday observance.....
Baker Avatar
September 26, 2022 at 4:38 PM
Sounds like most Sundays for me, Kim. Thanks for puting in into poetry. :-) A poet friend in Texas, Bill
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