Kenopsia

Once,

was this a place of

Joy.

Refuge.

God.

Once,

was this full on Sunday mornings

The pews with families dressed in their best,

the choir chanting psalms and hymns,

the sinned asking for forgiveness,

and the Pastor sharing the light of God

now,

this is a place of

horrors.

tragedy.

sin.

The old heavy dark oak doors

creaked

open in the howling winds

The crumbling weather-worn stone is

cracked

in several places

causing the

moonlight to

scatter

onto

the burnt pews

Long ago,

were there beautiful stained glass windows,

Now they are

shattered

leaving

behind

fragments

of the past

Moonlight casting an

eerie glow

on the inverted cross

above the

vine ridden alter

Walking down the aisle

torn red leather-bound Bibles litter the ground

with

scattered rosaries

hanging over the pews

The dark shadows seem to watch

your

every

step.

As you get closer to the alter

the closer the shadows seem to be

Lying in a left corner,

is the 19th century rusted organ

A faint melody of an old hymn

lost

in time can

still, be heard

echoing

off

the

ancient walls