The Death of Religion

A moving, warming sun
just one more inch to the right...
Then a beam, sparkling,
shoots through stained glass
across the pews
that shine in their emptiness...
Brushing over silvery tile,
over velvets and braid...
Finally settling
in righteous perfection
across a still 
troubled face...
Of one who needed...
One who waited
patiently...

But no one came…

Amen.

                     R. C. Arquette
                                       1970