Praise be

A heavy push and
wood creaks.
Musty, a thousand years.
Pull your jacket tight.
There are no guilded ceilings here.
Candles flicker.
Silent, watchful saints.

A footstep, muffled cough
before
the sound soars.
A thousand black and white angels,
chanting a picture of heaven,
alive in all its harmony.

You do not drop
To your knees
In praise of a god.

Simply praise the living
And the way their song has
Brought warmth to cold,
Light to dark.

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