Pax Modern

Away from fading windows

sealed deep within the efficient building

empty chairs wait.

Gleaming floors echo

friends laughing

hello and

goodbye,

but here I sit
alone.  

The sun set without me tonight.

Through long corridors I watched
as slit windows softly glowed
with withered passion.

Night rises suddenly!

Night is a fast clock,
firing rounds of morning, tomorrow, next week,
next year
into my defenseless heart!

Night is a rude guest,
an expected surprise.

But where is God?

In this comfortable cave

sterile bright altars serve

quick

convenient offerings.

No squalor of crucifixion here!

These are painless rooms,
climate controlled,
self-satisfied.

My soul dozes.

From troubling dreams
of resurrection
beige walls lull me
to dubious peace.

Spider Web

The spider web drifts,

abandoned, useless,

high in the window 

bright in the setting sun,

close to a world in motion.

Not immersed in the savage flow,

it is protected from wild birds 

that caw in the swaying tree

peering down

at creatures bound to solid, 

unmoving ground.

Their motion 

is sacred motion,

but the web just aimlessly stirs

in an inner breeze 

always on the edge 

of the living sea

held fast by stasis 

of gravity.