Old Church

In the countryside of Arcadia,

Stood an old church.

The church has stood for centuries,

But now has become an ruin.

The whitewashed walls, once grand and elegant,

Now lay as a rubble upon the ground.

The golden doorknob, upon the remains of the plain brown door,

Is the only thing that still shines,

And that shine is fading.

The Bibles and hymnbooks have

Long since been destroyed by weather and time.

The preacher's podium, the only thing standing above the rubble,

A light brown pride emits forth from it,

As if to say "The walls may fall, but I will stand tall."

The pews, smoke-scorched heaps of oak wood,

Teenagers have destroyed them for bonfire kindling.

This sacred place, oh, how it's fallen!

This sacred place, oh, how it's ruined!

What will humans desecrate next, the town itself,

The world, the universe?

The God of all creation watches sadly

As man destroys His wonderful masterpiece.