In a quiet town where time stands still,
An old church atop a weathered hill.
Its spire once kissed the sky so high,
Now forgotten, beneath the endless sky.
God's grace within these walls did dwell,
The faithful hearts, their stories tell,
But now it stands abandoned, frail,
Its story now a mournful tale.
Nature's grip, like a patient lover's hold,
Around the church, her tendrils fold,
Vines and moss in a soft embrace,
As time and weather slowly erase.
Statues of saints with faces worn,
From the day they were first adorned,
Watch over the crumbling nave,
The souls they saved, the lives they gave.
The stained glass windows, shattered and stained,
No longer shield from the wind and rain.
The altar where the faithful knelt,
Now a shelter for creatures, where stories are felt.
The echoes of hymns no longer resound,
The choir's voices, no longer found.
A silence broken only by the breeze,
As it dances through the fallen leaves.
The roof now leaks, the choir loft decays,
The pews in disarray, in a ghostly haze.
The church, a relic of a bygone age,
Its splendor lost, page by page.
Yet, in its decay, there's a certain grace,
As nature reclaims this sacred place.
A reminder that time will always pass,
Leaving behind both beauty and glass.
For in this old church, now falling apart,
There's a story that still lives in every heart.
Of faith, of saints, of love and art,
A testament to the human spirit spark.
© Arvin Ramirez
#timeflies #oldchurch #faithandtime