The door stood open and, not knowing why, <br />I left the clamour of the city street, , <br />And sliped inside, <br />Cool silence came to greet me like a balm, as <br />Though it could edify my wrong. <br />But not the background of the passers-by. <br /> <br />And inside the little church show that <br />centuries of prayer defeat. <br />The constant onslaught of man's noise. <br />Not discreet. <br />Beside the prayer-books one could buy <br />A simple candle.. <br />I wondered why. <br />Greatfully from my worn out satchel <br />The worldy sum did come. <br /> <br />From a deep unknown spot <br />A flame now began to trot <br />From inside me. <br />Left a dancing little flame to be. <br />Deep in a corner where the shadows played. <br />Pushes back the darkness which is a plague. <br />In fancy I inscribed it with my name. <br />A small acknowledgement from one who strayed... <br />In off the street. <br />To greet the next who looking for him to meet.<br /><br />Howard Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/small-city-church/