Amen

[Philatone]

V.3 adjusted L3, changed title to Amen (thanks to tec)

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you,
asleep in silence waiting to be snapped
to recall a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch.
Once the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.





V. 2 adjusted L2 and L3
adjusted last 3 lines slightly (thanks to billy and addy)

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep
in silence waiting to be snapped by footsteps.
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch.
Once the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.



V. 1
Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep,
unaware of my weight uncoiled at your side.
In the silence of what will blur into memory,
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch;
when the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.