Candlelight flickering on weathered stone, centuries
of silence gathered for this one night, this sacred
night, this night of grace.
You move through a ruined church, ancient, brooding,
aisles worn down by centuries of passage, statues
chipped, misshapen,
a place where worship of one God took over when
the old gods failed, or were simply discarded—
words echoing
in the emptiness of a starless night. You are alone, waiting
for something, the breath of an ancient mystery
or perhaps just the air
whispering the gathered history, the murmurs of a past
no one speaks of, no one remembers:
silence has taken over
in this night of grace. But silence has its own voice, its
own weight, enough to evoke old prayers, old
wisdom, old incantations,
enough to offer what they could not: the peace that comes
with death, the magical breath of the unknown,
the unexplained,
the silence of this night of grace.