Spirit Circle

Sunday Morning

Old prayers hang from the chapel rafters,
fallen short of the ears of God,
dried bats of piety gone dusty.
The choir intones a solemn hymn,
a dirge for faith sucked dry of hope.
The preacher thumbs his tattered Bible,
seeking a text to prompt his sermon.
In the market the people sell and buy.
Two fall in love; two others part.
One wins a game; one loses money.
One gives birth; one kills his brother.
The nodding congregation waits
to hear the benediction amen
before they brave the market again.

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Updated last on:  2001/05/22