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
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Chiaroscuro
PoetryIn-between black and white. A style of painting, drawing, etc. using only light and shade to achieve the effect of a third dimension.