SHE FOUND A CHURCH

She hides well,

but I smell the wounds.

Crouched in line with crescent moons.

Flowers bloom

from pools of blood.

Catching acid rain on tongue.

You can't tell where the laugh comes from.

Echoing church sanctuary walls.

Resting,sheltered within the pews.

She's clinging to the I love yous.

While the prayers turn whispering faint.

Numb from loss,barely awake.

Drifting death,like lioness hunt,

finds her held by centuries rust.

Into my arms,this lifeless thing.

Too late for saving souls it seems.

Flesh to frigid,against my chest.

I graze her wounds,carved in depth.

I stare at Christ,through sky,to God,

and ask when I can return home.