The Lights Are On

A small brown steeple spears the bleak sky,
Slows the blur of crowds pushing by.
Soot smears glass; graffiti stripes the porch,
But the lights are on in the church.

Outside, the rain beats and people run.
Loud raucous voices fade to a hum,
And someone stands in the flood to watch—
For the lights are on in the church.

A shamed woman cries here with release;
An unloved child stares at the cross—peace.
An addict ends now his frantic search,
For the lights are on in the church.

For the dark outside, they glow more bright:
Spill on the street, illumine the night.
People pause, knowing Someone’s at work—
For the lights are on in the church.

Copyright 2009 by Lauren. To be used only with permission.

Picture from http://www.creativevisionary.com/img/adv/wisconsin/steeple.jpg