The Church Bells

I miss the bygone bells,
The bronze deep-throated Sunday thrum
That synced with the vibrations of my heart
And called me out of time. O hark.

The weekday Angelus, in sounding noontime pause,
Pressed gently on the reset button
Of my daily round. The meaning of my midday errand list
Evaporated with the medieval hum between each gong.

The sonic waves, the music of the gods
Caressed from smelted molten ore,
Tranformed our earthen minerals
To evanesce the breath of stars, to stir the soul.

I miss that resonance, those airborne iron sounds
That woke my heart’s iconic field:
O ring away my labors, let them merge
And slowly fade into the call of love. Thus sang the bells.