the church is burning
a holy house for a vague man with powerful hands
erupting into flames, the sheer intensity of the heat scorching faces and hands
"step back children, for you may just end up like the building itself."
the wood had already rotted from the inside, much like the ones who had been 'born again' under the judgmental gaze of the wrinkled pastor
his eyes would scrutinize the thinning crowd during every sunday sermon
quietly critiquing and taking shrewd mental notes of which patrons were not listening quite as intently as he'd like...
it was the powerful judgments that only a broken and flawed man could have made
the flames lapped at every bit of worn out pine and oak beams
uncomfortable memories of the stifling hot summers and freezing winters, how it sounded when the lone man across the room cleared his throat loudly during the mandatory silence,
they were all lost to the void of time along with the countless holy books and objects inside the cramped and mildew-stained back rooms
my.... it was isolating
this was the house of the LORD, YAHWEH, whatever name you may call the creator that created destruction
yet there was no inclination to sadness, just a sense of loss for something that had always been there yet you'd never thought about in detail before
but alas
the church is burning
and nobody cares