A Sonnet to Past Vigils Kept
Before the hammer strikes the bell, I blink
and yes, the clock does call, so out of place
in dreams no less than night. Though tired I peek
to read the lines upon its sickly face
of green that swells beyond its frame to mill
about my cell. "Obey the voice of God,"
a thought does nag as I the angel still.
(Its head but slapped to end its noisy prod.)
But soon I wore a tunic black as sheep,
so fitting, belt about and scapular.
From hall to stairs and church beyond, I keep
the vows. I free the doors. I greet the dark.
In time the stalls will fill with song and psalm
to beckon light divine before the dawn.
+ By John Rieping
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