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Kenopsia

Once, was this a place of Joy. Refuge. God. Once, was this full on Sunday mornings The pews with families dressed in their best, the choir chanting psalms and hymns, the sinned asking for forgiveness, and the Pastor sharing the light of God now, this is a place of horrors. tragedy. sin. The old heavy dark oak doors creaked open in the howling winds The crumbling weather-worn stone is cracked in several places causing the moonlight to scatter onto the burnt pews Long ago, were there beautiful stained glass windows, Now they are shattered leaving behind fragments of the past Moonlight casting an eerie glow on the inverted cross above the vine ridden alter Walking down the aisle torn red leather-bound Bibles litter the ground with scattered rosaries hanging over the pews The dark shadows seem to watch your every step. As you get closer to the alter the closer the shadows seem to be Lying in a left corner, is the 19th century rusted organ A faint melody of an old hymn lost in time can still, be heard echoing off the ancient walls

Kenopsia

Once,
was this a place of
Joy.
Refuge.
God.

Once,
was this full on Sunday mornings
The pews with families dressed in their best,
the choir