The Sunday Whirl

by rugby843, posted in Uncategorized
His holiness in ancient rumpled robes, his facial bones stretch his thin wrinkled skin…walks slowly toward the dais. The candles flicker from yellow to gold to amber as the private chambers darken in evening light. He glances up to give reverence to the three figures above his gilded chair and thought of his beginnings as a lowly parish priest and the invisible spiral of success he now enjoyed. Even revered and respected, he remembers the disreputable seeds of years of compromised decisions, and weeps with regret.

Wordle 647

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