Great Poetry

[Mr.Obvious]

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The church

Come breathe holy air on this graveyard of dreams,
forlorn sanctuary now hidden amongst clouds of mist,
where better people than us prayed for mere gleams
Of a world after Lucifer’s and the King of Kings’ tryst.

When not even winds dare whisper the hymns they sang,
the bricks and mortar of this vestige crumble in silence.
I can naught but dream of reaching another with a bang
by ringing the scarred steeple’s bronze bells in defiance.

Is there life left in this fallen flesh and these buried bones?
Is someone marching blindly through these banks, hoping still?
I suppose to know; I must brave and climb these rotten stones.
And yet I’m cold and tired and wet, and I don’t know if I will.

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You're a pretty good poet, Obvs.

Thank you very much.