Untitled poem

Going to church at war is a unique experience. The weapons must always be with the soldier so the weapons come with the soldier to church service. Etiquette is to hold them in a safe position while getting a seat, then put them between the legs under the soldier on the floor.

While in this service I decided to express my thoughts and feelings in this poem. I don’t know why it comes out in poetry sometimes, it just does.

It’s getting dark outside

A bit colder now

The sun resting for the day

The door creeks

Quietly open again

To allow passage once more

Weapon ‘at the low’ or slung behind

And muzzle down

From door tile to aisle carpet

In deep orange brown

To muffle boot sole sound

A seat taken, on the old brown bench

In the row, next to another

The weapon dressed in black

Laid down below the bench

Stock sent out behind

A hymn book opened

The music already begun

Olive green rows of heads bowed

Knees and ankles crossed

New voices added in pitch and rhythm

The alm goes up and lights the room

The heart exposed

A humble stance of sitting in worship

Presenting self, action, arm

Releasing the week before

A preparation of core

To rise again, control in hand

And make a descent back to life here

I was feeling commitment, dedication resolve, humility, confidence