Charter Oak Church Poem by nathan martin

he in his elegant black sits in the corner

will he touch... tread.. lightly between the rows
of the american gothic families

their drawn out figures seem to fasten
throughout the lengthy periods of the sanctuaries silence.

that same silence forged in the dusty seminaries
of luthern chapels keeps him sitting so very still
with folded hands and a hymnal upon his knee.

will he stoop.. pray... recall the years.
or count the pews that seem to separate
him from the rest of the flock.

perhaps someone should give
him some bread half to remember
and half to forget.

now the interpretation of saints
and sinners dreams shines
through the stained glass
window to his right.

the scattered light comforts him
as it sifts and showers down in
shades of green and light yellow.

it moves through him slowly like
a fathers voice breaking upon the
sinews of the hardened wooden pews.

and diligence is kept and heard
as hymns are sung in the early morning.