The Church

In the shadow of the steeple
  on the church down the street,
the people hurry down the sidewalk,
  their shadows lean and bleak.

Their grim and somber faces
  show many a worry and care;
they glance furtively backwards
  as at something evil in the air.

The steeple looms over the city
  like a dank and foetid breath
while its tyranny and hatred
  spew the bitter stench of death.

The priests linger in the apse and nave
  like specters from hell
while an unseen entity
  rings the angry iron bell.

In the name of Jesus, Buddha, and Mohammed,
  armies go to war,
urged on by the priests and theologians
  to hideous acts of gore.

They fight pitched battles in the dark
  but no-one ever really wins;
with their flesh and their blood
  they pay for their sins.

The gargoyles on the roofline
  leer down with red-limned eyes
while the human race below
  destroys itself and dies.

Eons pass and the Earth moves on;
  cities crumble to rust;
the terrible reign of the church finally ends;
  ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust.