Sit Through the Sermon

Sit through the sermon and walk home in the rain,

Eat a cold dinner and shake off the pain,

But pain is such a heavy thing, laid hard around your heart.

Sealed tight around the edges and you can’t find a place to start,

To peel it up and breath again, your vision growing dim,

Drowning in your emptiness unable still to swim.

Walk through the field and part the mist,

In early morning haze.

Feel the tears well up inside, and remember his smiling face.

Cross the creek without a sound, and finally look around.

Back in the place where you met him first,  

How did you end up here?

You feel the grief in the hardest way,

And break down into tears.

Sit through the sermon without hearing a word,

Another week has gone by in a blur.

You walk home in the rain and sit in the window,

Let the rain soak through your clothes.

Doubling over you gasp for breath,

The sobs break through like daggers.

Jump down from the window,

Take off at a run.

Doesn’t matter if you know what you’re running from.

You’ll sit through the sermon and walk home in the rain

Eat a cold dinner and shake off the pain.

Eventually you’ll breathe again,

But you’ll never feel the same.  

It’s a part of you now, a new structure within you,

And it makes you feel overdrawn.

But you’ll grow to surround it and in time,

You’ll see where you went wrong.