The End of Christendom 

The church lay quiet

abandoned, empty

dust lays thick on the pews

as birds nest in the eaves.

Ivy, like an army,

retaking lost territory

covering the walls.

Ghosts of old voices

murmur on the wind

the choir loft empty.

Stained glass cracked,

sun shining through,

exposing the remains.

The baptismal font

empty and dry

a wilderness

instead of life’s water.

Prayers lost on the wind

lamentations echoing.

Once a place filled

now a shell forgotten 

by all who pass by

just another wreak

of humanity’s dreams.

Somewhere, in the dirt

lay hope and faith

buried deep within,

awaiting once more

to hear the voice,

calling it from the grave.

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