The Bells of San Xavier
Emerging from a doorway shadow
Through thick air - sweet with incense -
Comes a dark figure dressed in a robe
To be near the altar in silence.
The trappings pierce the dark with gold.
Upon him fall the eyes of those saints
Portraying the centuries of old
And every breeze makes them shift shape.
His fist is clenched over his rosary
As he mutters a prayer of small sound.
The peace is sacred and momentary
And it speaks to a heart as cold as stone.
Over the ghostly flames of candles -
His vacant eyes go up a tower
And he thinks he hears
That which shrills:
The Bells - the Bells of San Xavier.
As his prayer hovers in the smoke
He remembers priests who've come and gone
And there lingers a bitter hope
To join them and the angels among.
He struggles against purgatory
That curses him for reasons unknown.
His life on Earth was exemplary
But God has not yet called him home.
Visions of yesteryear play back
And thoughts of one woman remain.
Surely loving kindness is not bad.
He wonders if his life was in vain
Then shaking off the feeling of sin -
Returns the passion by which he sware
And with that spirit
Fighting rings vivid
The Bells - the Bells of San Xavier.
Echoes of laughter come down the hall -
High-pitched on the ears - innocent -
Broken by children coming through the wall -
Dead for so long they think nothing of it.
They are translucent in the moon's glow
Like a rushing wind for the fire
Released their essence many moons ago.
Behind them follows a Sister.
Like a father who loves his children
He draws them nigh with nothing said.
Their twinkling eyes cause him to grin.
He blesses each one upon their head.
With the cares of his heart made light -
The nun chases them into the air
As if their flight
Was called by that night
The Bells - the Bells of San Xavier.
Once again - he is left with his thoughts
And he turns to face the empty pews.
The hope of the church has not been lost;
The energy felt there is profuse.
Off to the side - he gazes upon the bones -
The bones of a Padre behind glass -
So old and brown they could pass for stones
With an expression frozen like a mask.
Again - he thinks of the tower up high
So he whispers an apology to the Padre
And swears that before the Age passes by
He will finish the church with bells someway.
A breeze comes in and puts out some wicks
And halts that concern of loving care
But through the darkness
Rings true his promise:
The Bells - the Bells of San Xavier.
Copyright © Amy Michelle Mosier | Year Posted 2023
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