The Last Days
The last days was a cathedral.
Choirs with hymnals and candlelit vigils
guarded the hushed and sacred aisle on Sunday mornings. Just a glimpse at the congregation,
all robed in faith and kneeling in prayer,
made people want to confess the truth about themselves to anyone who’d listen,
but no one spoke.
The last days was serene. The last days echoed hymns like benedictions, and we loved the stained glass haven, even though it humbled us or maybe because
it humbled us:
children peeking through pews long before the sermon, drivers stopping by the street just for a moment of peace, preachers who’d stand at the pulpit and promise that if they ever lost their way, they’d find it all here.
DIEM OKOYE
