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The old church steeple stands
Once so magnificent and grand
Inviting those one and all
Through stained doors once sturdy and tall.

Atop the once beckoning white cross
Lays precariously now from life’s rot
And as with life filled with dismay
The cracking paint reveals structural decay.

Promising the end of an era
Drawing swiftly, nearer and nearer
Taken over by rodents and insects
There are visible signs of human neglect

The pulpit now lay’s on its side
A signal of the coming demise.
Weeds withered fingers probe from outside
Weave between cracked walls searching for life.

The proud oaks searching the sky
Stand low now, as if to cry.
Burdened with moss from the years
Their laborious arms weighted with tears.

Reminiscent tears of memories long gone
Of watching children ‘neath them on the lawn.
Their massive roots dug into the ground
Echoed the heartbeats and the children’s sounds.

The stained glass windows, once shaded by leaves
Are broken and shattered, so enters debris
From the world outside in which we roam
Strewn on the floors throughout God’s home.

As I walk away, turning for one more glance
I hear the clapping roar of an avalanche
When the wrecking ball strikes its final blow
All that remains are memories of long ago..

Inspired while painting an old parsonage