photo credit: mindlovemisery
We waited outside
Deathless minutes passing
Far beyond the weave of grieving
We waited
It is very true
there is no knowing
the heart of loss turning, twisting
seeking succour and compassion
in hallowed walls,
these hidden depths
The priest was ashen
Bereft of words, his shoulders slumped
as she emerged with him so much later
to the pitiless afternoon gloom
I wanted to take his hand,
to comfort him also
He, perennially required to soothe,
but beyond solace
His church, his house,
this bleeding sacred heart,
cannot fathom or encompass
such unknowable loss
Her child gone to her
To a mystery
We could not speak
We looked only to these decaying walls
as though in their stillness
they might finally,
finally let her know
what had happened to her girl
and where she rested
If she rested
No angels gathered at the doorway
or sang across the halls
We waited silent
for her resolution,
her cold and lost acceptance,
embraced her weeping,
then took her slowly,
slowly home
(c) Helen Valentina 2013, All Rights Reserved
For mindlovemisery’s Prompt 13, using a photo from her own collection (posted above), so all credit to her for such a haunting photo – of course I’d choose the church of all the pictures (knowing me!) – but the story that seemed to unwind within me as I contemplated it was grim indeed (fiction, I hasten to add). Great inspiration, as you will find with all her wonderful writing at:
http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com
helenvalentina 