Fessus Sum

I am currently in the middle of mid-terms, hence my lack of posting (one down, two to go!). I don't have the time or energy to write something new at the moment, so I am going to post a poem that I wrote a few weeks ago. This was actually my first attempt at writing a poem, and I had no idea that I was capable of writing one this long. It was inspired by a church's decision (not one that I currently attend, but one that I have an association with) to remove the hymnals from the pews. They still sing some hymns from a projector, so perhaps the situation did not warrant a response as dramatic as mine, but once I started writing I got on a roll and went a little overboard. Here it is:

Ode to Hymns

The horizon began to darken,
and clouds, they filled the sky,
dogs started barkin'
and I began to cry.

"You're being ripped away from me!"
I lamented with loud voice,
"Why can't the people see,
how much we can rejoice?

"Though your bindings are in tatters,
and dark spots stain your page,
though your smell is musty,
and you have surely aged,

"You've been with us for centuries,
here through thick and thin.
Praising God, renouncing sin,
as best a songbook can.

"Your words are full of wisdom,
your music sweet and rich.
Yet people say you're needless,
your music is 'excess'.

"For a while I was silent,
and I sat there in my pew,
the hymnals all walked past me,
dear shades of red and blue.

They looked so sad and forlorn
as they walked out of the church.
Their little hearts were broken,
my stomach gave a lurch.

As the last walked on by,
he looked into my eyes.
He said "you must stop crying--
it will be all right.

"Many of our songs will still be sung,
in this most noble hall.
The words of wondrous hymns will be heard
from wall to solid wall."

He was just trying to cheer me,
his eyes were empty and dull,
his precious heart was shattered,
it was no longer whole.

The brave little book continued out,
the doors swung shut behind,
Alone, unsheltered from the storms
that raged in the cold outside.

"Your songs will still be sung here, yes,
"I said, though there was none to hear,
"But it will never be the same,
for you have no peer.

"Your music will be stripped away,
your words projected on a screen,
laid out stark and naked,
by an ugly old machine.

"None will know your ancient beauty,
your history they will forget.
The faith and love that made you,
the hope with which you were knit.

"Back into the pew I now collapsed,
for fever racked my brow.
The emptiness overwhelmed me,
like a tidal wave on a small ship's bow.

I knew my life was fading,
I could but scarcely breathe.
With my last breath I cried out,
"Dear hymnals, please don't leave!"