Lost In Church Bells
The church bells strike the hour. I’ve lost count,
and I waste myself sitting here but I cannot
find any movement within me. I am a niche.
I am a ripple of stagnant wind,
and I swear I shall not become a distant
solemn sound that’s lost in the soft pile
of curtains. Nor lost in church bells. Nor the hum
one hears in an empty church, as if tombs
breathe audible murmurs amongst their own.
And the air feels rigidly damp today. Silver.
The frosted ferns shivery, and the lead-latticed
windows set for my restraint. I dress for cold,
then step outside where shadows fall behind me.
I breathe giddiness, and warm with happiness
as the church bells strike the hour renewed.
Found and Remixed text sourced from personal recollections
of the Winter of 1990 and The Mystery of Edwin Drood
by Charles Dickens and prompted by NovPAD Day: 6, “Happy Now”