Where do all of the sins go?
Do they just disappear?
Float up into the thin nothing?

Or do they sink down,
deep down,
into the earth?
Killing our planet
one water bottle at a time?

Or do they linger, for at least a short time
in the mortar, cracked and ancient,
Between the old bricks of a stained church.
Their heaviness felt, as I enter
their presence.

Caught in the labyrinth of turns,
finding themselves going in circles.
Just looking for an end.

Is there an end?
Just like life there are many beginnings.
Jutting up from the floorboards,
they have the chance to be anything.

Will this one,
the one I live,
end up finding its way
to the tip of the stained glass window?
Escaping through the filtered light,
it will continue for hours,
days,

weeks,

years

an eternity,

just pacing,

living a life with no meaning.

Until this old church is torn down.