Suffocating in the crowded alanon meeting,
I feel discontent and morbid relief that I am not alone.
Sifting through words of comfort, listening to each hearts groan.
Strangers all bound together, seeking answers and learning how to cope.
Tasting each others tears, stories of blood and vomit,
black and blue broken promises painfully clear.
Gathered together sitting on aluminum chairs in a small church’s foyer.
The organist came rushing from behind closed wooden doors,
“excuse me sir, you must move,for many more are coming and practice is near.”
The organist did not see the open wounds and radiant courage sitting there.
The young man kindly smiled at him, and insisted
“please god’s work is right here patting seat of nearby chair."
The organist, his face so startled,
“no I think you misunderstand, I have god’s work to to do, to play and sing for his command.”
The young man kindly smiled at him, and insisted
“please, god’s work is right here with you sitting here beside me."
The organ master’s tone became so low and tense,
“I don’t wish to be a part of this, and mass does start at 10:00,
you are more than welcome to attend.”
The young man got up from his chair, his eyes filled so sad.
I whispered gently in his ear, “that cross above his organ, every day he does see.
I guess he has just forgotten, as I gently touched his hand.
Once a flesh & blood wounded man hung there for you and for me."
I hung there.
Honorable mention
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