Your steeple is crumbling.
They're stripping crosses to melt
for some return.
The bell is gone from the tower.
Sunset reflects an orange hue
across your chiseled walls.
A fire rages in the eyes of many.
I watch you out this window, year after year.
You are quiet, now rented to the highest bidder.
Grey is your stone that lifts that tired beacon
beyond the roofs of the town,
above the leafless trees.
Now, you're illuminated with external light
rather than the One
before.
The one, that built you from within
and allowed
for all the deception.
you touched on the way things are going. I don't like it either Bravo!
I too watch as these churches are replaced by condominiums. I am intrigued by your last line which appears to be a double entendre. Please correct me if I'm mistaken. Excellent poem, Poet Bray!
Thanks Richard, Yes I was trying to express the support the church once had to the new reality of the betrayal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poem. Life is constantly in the state of change, for better or for worse, time will tell... perhaps just the way it is? Thank you for making me think.