photo #8964735

The Church at the End of the Night After the bars had closed their doors, And laughter faded to hollow floors, He wandered the street, his shadow thin, The weight of silence tucked within. Neon signs had lost their glow, The city hushed, the world moved slow. With heavy steps, he found his feet Carried him toward the church up the street. No pews were filled, no candles burned, Yet something inside him softly yearned. The echoes of hymns, long since sung, Clung to the walls where faith was hung. He sat alone, beneath the spire, His heart a dim but steady fire. Not for answers, not for grace, But for the stillness of the place. The world outside could spin and roar, But in that moment, he needed more. A fleeting peace, a quiet breath, A space untouched by life or death. And so he stayed, until the dawn, Until the weight he’d carried was gone. Then rose, renewed, and met the street, The church a refuge, his night complete.