I sat alone and worshiped while the wind and rain were gone
I thought myself unchanged
No washing away, no whirling around, no breaking of my will
I thought myself unmoved
I thought myself unmet
I sang my quiet song of praise and left my tears unshed
I let my hands hang down
I let my voice remain a whisper
I thought myself unfeeling
The only stir, the only prompt was my desire for sleep
I left the alter without scars
And though the song I sang did not echo past the stairway
The sacrifice must have been made
Much later
I am better for having been unchanged, unmoved, unmet, even unfeeling
I did not flood the alter with my tears
But I was there