VESPERS

Votive candles flicker in the apse
white flames shrouded in crimson jars.
Each one a restive soul whispering prayers
that only the saints can hear.

Mute saints, in various guises,
some glancing at the candles,
some heavenly,
seem to acknowledge
these sotto voce pleas.

As I light a candle,
for those close to me, departed:
I strain to hear their prayers,
(as though I’d be able.)

I whisper my own
in hope that my voice
would be heard.

I sit in the pew and stare
at the rows of Votives,
contemplating life,
not death.

All I can do for the dead,
is to light a candle
and give them a voice
for a brief time.


©T.Puma/MMXII