Always An Altar
Bony elbows lean into
the worn grooves of
a long wooden bench in front
of the platform. The aged gentleman
on his knees is well familiar
with this holy place.
On his first trip here
the vice grip of alcohol
fell from his soul like heavy chains.
Moments of repentance,
to shout and dance over deliverance,
a call to deeper dedication,
to weep at the death of his daughter
and a host of opportunities
of a 50 year span have led
him over and over to
this stronghold of sweet communion.
Kneeling now, he feels the brush
of a body next to him and
discovers his young grandson.
“Grandpa, I love you. I want to go
wherever you go,” the boy
whispers in his ear.
Grandpa softly replies, “Learn to love
The Truth that leads to this place, my child, and
we’ll never be separated.