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foreverstill

in this faraway moment
time is not erased
each grain of every wooden plank
calls out to and from centuries
of worship
the chipped paint
hymn to solitary prayer
over green fields
winds blow
with secrets common
to each faithful soul
forgotten
yet remembered each year
springtime cannot touch this sanctity
and winter dares not destroy its promise
summer has parched temple lips
leaving words fragile on autumn’s
altars of color
yet nothing
has dimmed such beauty
nor reasons
that made it live

. . .