Ring. Ring. Ring.
The bell goes on beckoning us to come worship.
But he's knees only kneel for her.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
It calls us to come offer ourselves to our Lord and Saviour.
But he's soul was always hers to keep.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
It summoned a song of praises from the diaphragms of the choir.
He's voice only ever used to call her name and bless her ways.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
The choir sang hymns of praise for the Messiah, the Priest confessed the holy truth. Arms raised they received the divine coming of the Son of man.
"He lives. He rose. He lives. He saves. Amen!" The Priest hollered and the church ululated in praise and agreement.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
He got ready for church.
Waist high faded jeans, and black button up shirt.
She watched him fall desperately to his knees, as he knelt before her with devotion and mirth.
Surrounded by her sanctuary he smelled the low scent of Jasmin that engulfed his senses.
Heart hammered, breath ragged, her hair being caressed gently from his fingers as they curled around her low waist.
He offered himself as a vessel of praise and worship down her temple.
Her mind let free from its shackles she proclaimed the goodness of the holy one.
She let her lips exclaim the promises of the mighty one.
He continued to worship and she cleansed him of all his sins, kissed his temple and blessed him.
With him much out of breath, he let out a low staggering "Amen, Amen."
YOU ARE READING
Poetry For HIM
PoetryThis is a collection of events, experiences and moments I have garnered throughout my life in respect to all the HIM's I have had. Enjoy the depths of my feelings, my average word play and my perspective of the different loves I've experienced. Life...
