Tag Archives: abandoned church

The Distant Angels

Christmas Eve, almost midnight, all is still.
Ally walks alone, only her breath, heartbeat,
and the crunch of her feet on soft snow.
Her favorite jacket, black parka, faux fur
lining around the hood, is her armor,
a prism of her faith, in the darkness.
Christmas Eve, the sky clear, wide open,
all the stars, the distant angels, come to
sing of hope, of love, of all that can be.
The church was left behind years ago,
the stained glass smashed to jagged edges,
the large doors and tiled roof long lost to rot.
Ally steps inside, the starlight the altar candles,
the moon gives her her acolyte robes, the wind,
quiet and still, whispers something, somewhere distant.
Something lingers still, and there is a stirring, a dream,
a terrifying hope in the lonely night. No angels come,
but a birth has come, His Birth, a world without end.
She here’s a cry, a growl outside, no mere animal hunger
or aggression or fear, something more, something come.
Ally pulls her parka and hood tighter, whispers a prayer.
She leaves The Church, walks into the night, led by stars
and moon, led by her eyes that sees it’s light in the cold.
She looks not at the demon, though she feels it’s biter gaze.
Christmas Morning, the day has changed over, morning has come,
though still dark and cold, still so little light, still so far to go to the sun.
Ally walks, whisper sings an old hymn, of all the love that is near.


Breath and Blood

The old and ruined church in the woods,

open to the sun and the stars, and overgrown

and verdant with ivy, kudzu and flowers.

A place of worship forgotten, used by people

long gone, it is taken by nature, and nature is God,

and God is awesome and always wiping us away.

Solitude, the cool, moist and misty morning,

the babble of the little clear brook, and silence,

allowing a small, still voice to speak.

In the wind, I feel something, in this left behind

and more righteous cathedral, that is more than

breath and blood.

A moment, and then the world comes in, and

breath and blood is all I am, simply human,

still longing to touch something behind the air.

And I think of a long past lover, and a November

evening, in youth and freedom and a gaudy city,

and if in those soft kisses, did our souls really touch?