Words on a Nightstand

In a drawer, dust settled on pages once worn,

a hotel Bible, a relic forlorn.

I flipped through the verses, seeking some peace,

yet found only judgment, my worries increased.

How many nights spent in sterile hotel rooms,

praying for solace while shadowed by gloom?

The pages, yellowed, don’t offer a balm,

just whispers of faith that feel cold, not calm.