Here is a fresh poem by my friend and coursemate from Kingston's Creative Writing programme, Suzanne Catlin. I think the poem is good, the language at times lovely. Thanks, Suzanne.
We are gathered through unwavering resolve
To walk through these heavy iron-wrought doors together
Strengthened by the people we’ve known,
Weakened by the people who’ve left us.
And as I sit I realise something akin to gravity,
The maw of realization becoming a chasm
So wide I cannot see the teeth only the deep void;
Only the nothingness behind my own eyelids.
Hymns echo in awe around the rafters but I can’t breathe.
So I sit there lips tight with eyes dry and burning
Leaning against the cut lilies already wilting;
And I’m scared but not enough to be fooled.
There is no God, no metaphor, only silence;
A thrilling crescendo of imagined noise,
A puff of cold air along a prickled nape,
A play of coloured light on pews and stone.
I stay long after the people are gone,
Down by the crumpled bibles and prayer cushions,
The chill settling into the sinew and bone,
And beyond the doors the sky tears itself open,
Becoming a thunderstorm.