To much of the world

hallowed ground

is a grotto under a church in

oh little town.

To others it’s a sacred monolith in Mecca

or along the banks of the river Ganges.

Some feel it’s the killing fields of Gettysburg

or where their hearts are buried South Dakota.

And others find hallowed

two holes in Manhattan

and one in Pennsylvania.

But to me it’s much easier than these

because my holy land begins with

a table and two chairs

and an initial kiss hello

outside of a coffee shop

on a warm November morning.

from my ebook of poetry and short fiction “Songs you can’t dance to” – available on Amazon, B&N, and iTunes.

copyright 2012 Steven Harz

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2 thoughts on “Poem: “Hallowed ground”

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