Ancient Poem by Lucifera Santez

Ancient it is,
The run down chapel,
Surrounded by sturdy old trees,
The emptiness lurking from behind its walls,
And its loneliness,
A shard of echo inside it.
The roof leaks,
The benches are broken,
The blind old vicar,
Prays to god,
But god doesn’t pay the bills.
The cemetery beside it,
Is old too,
With graves that aren’t
Young anymore,
Their headstones
Withered with age,
A layer of grim covering them,
Nobody comes to visit.
Even the corpses in their graves,
Don’t rise
They too have weary bones.
Everything here belongs
To a different era,
An age that died,
But didn’t die somehow,
Alive it is
In this bower,
Safely tucked away
From prying eyes of time,
Panting to keep up,
Taking broken breaths
Just breathing,
Just surviving
Just living somehow.