church bells chime and roosters call too late for the break of dawn.
A celebration at hand for Virgin Mary, the saint of all, is today.
The rural sounds drowned out as cars and trucks go back and forth.
Birds tweet and chirp their little arias trying to find the best branch offering the most secluded, secure shade.
Sounds of mourning never hesitate to bring the day.
Walking steady, mornings travel across hazy fields and blue mountains as the sunlight discloses their existence and intentions
Byzantine hymns enter the air interrupted by whizzing cars and accompanying birds.
The holy ceremony goes on steady and slow like the break of dawn before it. Nature’s duty calls and settles dust irresponsibly of holidays, repentance vows and holy communions.
As the day disintegrates, the world falls
and the priest in the community holds together traditions, hopes and dreams disguising failures, crimes and dark deeds.
For today’s faith will marry the church as the preachers bring a close to anyone’s sins.
Any cost is too subtle, too sublime. It has to stay afloat, survive in the diffused dream that closes in on our journey of hopes while the streets remain busier than the house of God.
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