The Man Who Held His World In His Hands

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.