Time to kill before the bus
The chill air
Penetrates my lungs as I hurry
To a place of sanctuary.
The air in there is heavy
With silence
I seem to wade through
The prayer and devotion of thousands.
My gaze rests on her
Blue painted eyes downcast,
To the babe in her arms
And I wish that someone
Would cradle me.
I put down my shopping bags,
Fingers stiff with cold,
And sore with weight.
I kneel…
My mind goes back
To the grotto in the garden,
A small sanctuary
Amidst a miserable quagmire.
The cold air bites
As I step outside
And don my heretics cap once more,
My eyes cast upwards to heaven…
And I feel crucified.