In the Temple of the Ancient of Days

She rises early from bed to go where there is no need for keys

***

On bended knees, head bowed, wrinkled hands folded,
Bands of unseen angels surround the lonely woman
As she prays alone in the Temple of the Ancient of Days

***
Cacophony in the streets no longer an anomaly,
Here there is still solemnity and blessed serenity
As old lips whisper into the ear of One who hears

***
Screams throughout the city shatter dreams of lasting peace
When all battles cease, but one still prays for that holy day
When people walk in the way of authentic love from above

***

Light footsteps can barely be heard and no spoken word
As a young boy walks thru the door across marble floor
And dares to draw near the solitary figure in quiet prayer,
To kneel beside her with real intention to make petition
In his own way in this the Temple of the Ancient of Days

***

We, too, may rise from bed to go where there is no need for keys
To bend knees and pray . . . in the Temple of the Ancient of Days

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