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The room where God forgot his name
A chair remained,
still warm from unfinished prayers,
but no one, no one dared to touch it.
The cross on the wall
did not gaze upon the world,
but had pierced itself inward,
as if the Lord,
ashamed by so much silence,
had withdrawn into the bone of the wood.
Whispers
no longer descended gently,
but dripped heavily, like a sentence,
from the damp ceiling,
without light,
without deliverance,
without witnesses.
Copyright ©
Florin Lacatus
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