I’m kneeling at the alter,
The black cloth covering my face moves passively as I breathe in through my nose and quietly out my mouth.
The breathe of a yogi but out of context, out of noise, just trying to be there, for you, in that moment.
The pain over takes your body constantly, it has seeped into your blood and is throughout your existence now.
Empathy is where I stand, comfort is what I try to be. Warm, inviting, beautiful, like the wind in the trees of the spring mountain air.
But time passes, my head still bowed, in silent hope disguised as a prayer.
How long can we remain on our knees, they too grow tired of the kneeling.
And just outside, past the soft pallet of the stain glassed Windows, there is laughter.
I reach for your hand silently, look hopefully from you to the outside world.
Let us go enjoy the laughter, the breeze, we shall drink the lemonade and it shall quench our thirst.
But you are not yet ready to leave, your knees have taken all the kneeling they can, but your body is too weak to move.
How long before I go outside alone.