Church

We walk on
wearied shuffling feet
on and on
through cities dark and twinkling
and dirt roads
black as night
My wandering brethren
I would cry to you but my voice is in the dust
left long ago to blacken
as soot stained pages do
under the thousand feet trudging
after those calloused heels and raw worn soles
of the one hundred and forty-four thousand
the twelve thousand
the twelve thousand
the twelve thousand
the six 
the twelve thousand
the twelve thousand
the twelve thousand
the seven 
the twelve thousand
the twelve thousand
the twelve thousand
the eight 
the twelve thousand
the twelve thousand
the twelve thousand 
sealed
and those we forget to count

Revelation 7:4-17