DFC 2: Arch Angel

December always leaves me wanting;
Streets and people cold as stone,
Unfriendly as a church
That turns away the pagan non-believer
With peddlers beseeching "Angel,
Wont' you buy?"

I pass them by,
All of them lost in greed and wanting
And me in misery, a fallen angel
With a jaded heart of stone,
Unable to believe
In commerce, congress, or in any church.

My feet have brought me to the catholic church
(A place I rarely dare to tread by).
I was never really much of a believer;
Sermons I find empty and wanting.
The arch to the vestibule is polished stone
And beneath, with hands outstretched, an angel.

My eyes rest longing on the angel,
Silent guardian of the quiet church,
Wan with wide-spread wings of stone
That offer something more than one can buy
And I find I desperately want
To believer her.

She offers me, a non-believer,
A gentle smile, a smile so angelic
I cannot help but feel she is wanting
To impart some wisdom--"Though I guard a church
I see all passers-by,
And I love them all, though I am stone."

And for a moment she is more than stone,
And perhaps I have found something to believe
As I gently touch her face to say good-bye;
That maybe there could exist an angel
Such as I, belonging to no church
But offering her comfort, if you want.

Though still rare for me to pass by the church,
I find myself less-wanting and more willing to believe
my beautiful "arch angel", carved of stone.