An inner choir sings

You do not find it in the brush strokes of the saintly.
Or willowing wisps of utterances in cold hallowed halls.
Do not look for god in pages of prejudice.
Or underneath the rocky souls of the holy.
Light a candle and feel me.
Peel back the bits of Christ to find me.
Swimming in the shallow cells of you.
Awash, in the DNA of God.

11/09/202210/09/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, blood, godTags: angels, art, blood, choir, church, god, jesus, light, poem, Poetry, prayer, religion, saint, saintly, saints, self, truth 4 Comments