Anthology

The church stands tall, facing the sun as he lies down Upon his bed of mountains, hills, beasts, and trees.
He peers over the forgotten form and out to far off seas Not noticing that lonely edifice bound by solemn mounds. The spirit of this once loved sanctuary has fled

Seeking after those who consigned to oblivion
A memory of golden pews, now bitter and rotten;
A once grand and ardent piano, her strings now rusted. But oh, there was a time when these rafters did sing Hymns now quite as lost as those voices removed.
Oh, how that jovial bell rang when hopefuls wed;
Now silent, only wind bringing forth her ghostly ring. The stained eyes now vibrant in the last rays of light Shed shards of broken glass, like tears of shattered time.