Anthony Ward
When it was Wednesday
I was late.
I saw them gathering in their Sunday best,
Crammed in the pews,
Sitting in such silence
That let in the sound of rain,
Tiptoeing, then stampeding across the ceiling
As if it were about to fall in.
I stood soaked in the aisle, inducing pools on the floor,
It’s not me I said
I’m still not dead
Though nobody could hear above the rain
Stampeding across the ceiling.
Anthony loves the way words sound through silence. He is inspired by the nature of the world and the expression of art as humanity decrees to discover itself. He writes to express the overwhelming beauty of the natural world with the inspiring admiration of artistic creativity.