Leaping turrets,

soaring arches,

brooding gargoyles,

water streaming

from their mouths.

A fallen angel,

wings tattered,

by the alter,

praying to god.

Weeping angels,

carved from onyx,

brooding sentinels,

in the halls.

On swooping ceilings,

murals painted,

cherubs dancing

in the clouds.

Torches burn,

cause creeping shadows,

creatures hiding,

in the night.

An organ plays,

the music soars.

People weeping

at the sound.

Stained windows,

showing pictures,

making you,

cry to god.

In the church,

people pray.

In the church,

people sing.

In the church,

people weep.

In the church,

people are Redeemed.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

If I think correctly, I made this when I was reading The Vampire Armond. (Got to love that book, and all of the other Anne Rice books) But one thing is for sure, I love this poem a lot. Theres something about it maybe.

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