I love the sound of church bells
reverently reverberating at dusk—
Like birds they rely upon each other’s call.
I love the sound of church bells.
How they bounce off window panes on Italy’s narrow streets–
peek around corners and linger in the cobble stones–Submission
distant from the Papal drone.
I love the thought of praying people;
their yearning echoes—sparks aflame of iridescent light—
long ago, down under, inside me.
I love the church bells, the cavern of sacred sounds –coveting an ageless story without words…
Weathered palms; fingers of muted colors, pressed into cracked stone for safe keeping.
I love the ringing of church bells;
I watch the sky turn as bells chime—north to south; east to west;
my ear, hooked on their call.
Disappointed they will soon fade,
I wait as they settle among still crimson clouds.
I love the sound of young boy’s voices—not yet changed by time;
larks in the meadow, humming tomorrow’s song- streaming down the river like skipping stones.
Night settles, morning rises. I stir; I sleep, I wrestle, I dream.
I trip when I forget the church bells–I rely upon their ringing—
elicits my imagination—-proclaims promise—gives me breath.
O how I love the sound of church bells—when
god embraces the earth.
Andrew Pelfini has been writing in multiple genres since his early twenties and has published an anthology of chosen works from The Intergenerational Writers in San Francisco. Andrew is a psychotherapist and graduate educator. He enjoys standing at the barr at the Academy of Ballet among the adult student community.
