DarkChurch

I enter

this church of my childhood

as sky enrobes itself

in shades of  grey

turning it's back on the sun.

Inside, the quiet dark

is pin pricked

by silent flames

under worshiped statues.

Red and yellow star clusters

flickering,

supplications

meant for the eyes of God.

Lit by black clad widows

mourning their dead

or praying

for the souls of their living.

But I am now

the only breath

in this twilight house.

where

warm grey air turns cold

with tentacles

of unknown spell

insistent beneath my skin.

I turn from feel of evil

in this sanctuary

back to the dawning night.

They lock the doors now,

barring twilight entry.

Perhaps there is more to fear here,

than the thieving of God's gold

from altar and tabernacle.

© Grapher May 30, 2013