Excellent writing. Great imagery. Very evocative. I'll throw one of my own your way just to make you suffer - ha!


It is silent in the cathedral.
The altar shrouded in dust.
The pews stretch on forever.
Because they must.

My heart is the bell in the tower.
It used to sing out every hour.
But now it is dark and soundless.
Because it is.
It is.

These stained glass windows
Used to reverberate with love.
Souls would fuse together
And escape through cracks above.

While copper pipes
Burst forth with glory,
And spirits wronged
Would tell their story.

Then all was quiet.
No penitence to golden icons made.
Christ just hung upon his cross
And none were saved.

When you left the cathedral of love,
God nor Devil spoke from below or above.
Dead silence reigned supreme.

As it has always been.

Excellent imagery. Very evocative. Great job! I thought I'd torture you with one of my own! Ha!



It is silent in the cathedral.
The altar shrouded in dust.
The pews stretch on forever.
Because they must.

My heart is the bell in the tower.
It used to sing out every hour.
But now it is dark and soundless.
Because it is.
It is.

These stained glass windows
Used to reverberate with love.
Souls would fuse together
And escape through cracks above.

While copper pipes
Burst forth with glory,
And spirits wronged
Would tell their story.

Then all was quiet.
No penitence to golden icons made.
Christ just hung upon his cross
And none were saved.

When you left the cathedral of love,
God nor Devil spoke from below or above.
Dead silence reigned supreme.

As it has always been.

Good imagery. Well done. I gave you one of my own to compare our styles. Hope you like it.

Erik



It is silent in the cathedral.
The altar shrouded in dust.
The pews stretch on forever.
Because they must.

My heart is the bell in the tower.
It used to sing out every hour.
But now it is dark and soundless.
Because it is.
It is.

These stained glass windows
Used to reverberate with love.
Souls would fuse together
And escape through cracks above.

While copper pipes
Burst forth with glory,
And spirits wronged
Would tell their story.

Then all was quiet.
No penitence to golden icons made.
Christ just hung upon his cross
And none were saved.

When you left the cathedral of love,
God nor Devil spoke from below or above.
Dead silence reigned supreme.

As it has always been.