and as i sit in this church pew
i can't help but find myself writing poetry on my left palm
i use the pens that are supplied
behind the backs of the wooden rows
and let my mind wander
to places where my golden thoughts lay
i am also aware that these captured emotions
are written from stolen ink
and pressed onto my sensitive flesh
only to disappear from sight
when i fold my hands together
bow my knees
and begin to pray