The old church

As old as the hills
with no recollection of it’s birth
the church and steeple stood  steadfast upon the earth
A beautiful building singing symphonies of stone built in bygone days by sheer backbone
When one chances inside the huge wooden arched door one is immediately enthralled in cativated awe
Exquisitely adorned, with elegant pulchritudinous
Symmetrically statuesque
so magnificent and marvelous

Such a hallowed holyness has an unearthly subsistence
An eerie silenced, omnipresence
Perhaps it stems from it’s historic happenstance from oh so long ago
or then again it could well be the sourrounding graveyard that is covered in snow
Out in the sticks this uninhabited consecrated chapel is a solitary sight
One has witnessed ghostly apparitions in the stillness of the night

One wonders back in ancient times
the sound of the unbroken knell and chimes
But disregarded and derelict it stands today with such clandestine  hauntings from it’s stark display
As I silently sit on an old dusty pew
staring at what once was the pulpit I imagine the Reverend’s view
Pastoral preaching and prayers should echo from his loud voice
worshippers amidst his congregation would join in jubilant rejoice 
Hallelujah the choir would sing and at the end of his sermon the church bells would ring