Before my eyes, there once appeared
A fallen temple in the sky
And within this temple lay the once-revered;
The godly and the sanctified.
Once a beacon for mortal eyes
With awe and reverence to behold,
It now lay crippled, guarding haunted cries
That echoed through the silent cold.
The sacred relics of ancient times
Lay scattered on the dusty floors
And I imagined them perfectly aligned
To be respected and adored.
Among the ruins, I came upon
Three thrones inlaid with purest gold
And seated on these thrones, withdrawn,
Were three stone figures: The Gods of Old.
The Gods were somber, silent creatures
Who wore a countenance of grief
And etched into their lifeless features
Were hints of pain and disbelief.
Their kingdom, now the visage of pain,
Held hollow dreams and shattered light.
They looked out over what little remained
Of their loyal servants' weary plight.
I felt with them a sudden void
That yawned open wide within my heart.
It was the grievance for this world, destroyed-
Dragged away and torn apart.
And all the pews sat empty;
The altar stood stained and bare,
As though the very faith of centuries
Had been renounced and slaughtered there.