The Midnight Mass
It’s midnight in the chapel and she’s dancing all alone;
It’s silent, save the drone
Of falling feet on stone.
This chanting’s from her dancing, but she might as well be prone
In how her footfall’s tone
Sound prayers of flesh and bone.
Her eyes are focused upwards while her arms seem wildly thrown
In motions one would know
As seedlings being sown,
But none are there as witnesses, save the altar’s empty throne—
No one to condone,
And no one to disown—
But still she dances on as if in silence she will grow.
It’s long past midnight now, and she’s still dancing there, alone.
The candles have all since gone out, but oh! How they once shone!
~Michael Danger Caskey