Common Praise

I’m sitting in the back where the shadows stay long,

holding a book with a spine made of dust.

I still know the rhythm and the lift of the song,

though I’ve mostly abandoned the concept of trust.

The blue cloth is heavy, it pulls at my thumb,

as I trace the frayed silk of the ribbon inside.

It’s stuck on a page that makes my heart numb,

a story of grace with nowhere to hide.

I’m an intruder in a house built for the saved,

thumbing the lyrics of a half-forgotten light.

The path to the exit is the only one paved,

but the weight of the paper is holding me tight.