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His stained glass image hovers above flickering candles. Eyes downcast, arms open, palms up. Reverence embraces the Nave. The shape and drape of His robe caresses Him with every fold. Kneeling, bending to pray fragmented thoughts what to say. Can he hear me? Can he see me? Or is He only in my tutored mind? Burdens of sin rape my soul. Emotional rue taking it's toll. From somewhere along the edges of my being emerges the truth. His holy presence adorns me in garments of forgiveness. A single teardrop revels my acceptance of absolution.
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