Quiet.

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Quiet.

Time
To pray
To reflect
To be thankful
To be grateful.

To consider:
The present
The future
The good
The gains
The losses.

To weigh
To balance
To close.

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The Cathedral

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The Light shone through the Cathedral
Amidst the chattering of the crowds
It came in through the stained-glass window
Where the Saints and Kings were stood.
It stilled the mind and calmed the heart
As the lit candles burned
Sending their owners’ prayers
To where they would.

The crowds were divided by origin and motive
Some were just there just to look
Others were tourists on their Life’s way
Not seeing the homeless or beggars by the door
Eating their sandwiches with downcast eyes
Fervently seeking somewhere to hide
Their gaze, and thereby their state
Of being.

The lookers and the tourists kept up the chatter
As the lone readers of that Book
Remained still consumed with the reading
Quietly devouring, needingly pleadingly
The words that might allay their fears;
Taking the Light for granted
As a means to an end
Not the answer to their prayers.

No one was kneeling. None singing.
Many were strolling around curiously
Curious as in a Department Store
Where the goods on display elicit longing.
Some stood silently as if waiting
-Expecting Hoping Wondering-
For the cataclysm of a caved-in roof
Or the collapse of a building.

Nontheless

The Light shone through the Cathedral
By way of the stained-glass
Where the Saints and Kings were stood
Filling the void, the cavity
With something more than mere mortality
Not disturbing Man in the search
For what could not be grasped,
But only apprehended.

A Place For All

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The smell of mince pies, freshly baked
Assailed the air
Challenging one to not smile
While listening to the banter
Of those gathered around tables
Restaurant style
Awaiting the fare.

Breakfast was over, dishes removed
By cards and board games
Challenging the brain
While music in the background
Streamed from the kitchen
Uninteruptedly
Just loud enough to hear.

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Drop In!
For a hot meal, a drink
Coffee Tea Water Milk
Fresh Juice and food prepared
By cheerful pleasant Volunteers
Who mind their own business –
Unless invited yours to share.

Not to say they don’t care
For why else would they be here
From the crack of Dawn?
No, they merely know their places
As cooks and scrubs and servants
Big brothers and aunties and mothers
And helping hands.

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Lunch bears no pretenses
And holds no shame
Just solid fare brought to table
With a smile and no blame
While sandwiches bagged earlier
Wait on the counter
To be later given away.

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Old young pretty or thin
Hard of hearing
Black white or gray
Eloquent stuttering or dumb
Or even sight-impaired,
Alone single or coupled
No discrimination here.

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The Tab Centre, they call it
A place for all, they say
Where friends can meet and relax
In a kindly atmosphere.
Where once you’ve been
You leave recharged
And go happily on your way.

http://www.tabcentre.com/

http://thetabvenue.com/