Hymnal's Weight

The hymnal slips, heavy in my hands—

pages splayed, yellowed with age.

A streak of light cuts across cracked leather,

spilling secrets into the worn spine.

It hits the floor, a thud thicker than sound,

a bulk that drags time’s dust through the room.

Each note folded into brittle pages

rests like a prayer I can’t quite hold.

The corners curl like tired hands,

the words press down like old stone,

a weight I carried once without knowing,

now unmistakable, raw in my grip.