Behind the screen

The dark wood, the slatted screen,

the space to speak, unseen.

In the movie, it was hushed, a quiet grace,

a whispered word, no judging face.

I've thought of it, a place to shed

the small, dull things inside my head.

Not sins, exactly, but the weight

of thoughts that just accumulate.

The worn kneeler, heavy and low,

the murmur that no one would know.

To just unload it, a release,

and then to walk away, find peace.

But who'd be there, on the other side?

Just more silence, nowhere to hide.