A blazing inferno roared with spirit,
encasing in speed, the burning building.
As the crowds gathered, they gaped as they neared it,
the fire, a sign of pure human weakness.
A foul smell of gasoline and spirits,
rose from the plumage of carbon clouds.
Like the sadness of an old songs lyrics,
cry’s went up with fascinated sounds.
Through the blaze, for the gathering to see,
in a bold, stark and putrid green,
anything you can imagine are the words that be.
Painted on the door, obviously,
watching the onlookers sinisterly.
All of the topics that the church is against:
murder, immorality, or socialism of late.
The possibilities are numerous, all dripping in hate;
hatred towards God, the prophets and saints.
Those words mean loathing, a form of attack,
something overlooked by the gathering pack.
It befell the church because of its tact,
of listening to Him, not the wit that some lack.
Some scowled, good riddance.
Some, A holy place.
Flames licked at the steeple,
engulfing a symbol to remind those of grace,
standing majestically atop the chapel,
in its smouldering embrace.
The crowds gaze on with increasing awe.
But none lift a finger,
for fear of a war.
A tormented groan announced the collapse of a wall.
In an atomic burst of sparks and ash,
the wall came down with a thundering crash.
But still, not one, not an onlooker at the scene,
decided to stand against this villainy.
Slowly, achingly, the clock hands crept by.
When the firemen finally managed to arrive,
there was nothing left of the church,
that ever survived.
It could have been saved; it’s now smouldering ash;
a pile of burnt toothpicks,
not even fit for the trash.
This poem has a moral, a story to tell,
one that our history will remember well.
Of what will happen and how that little church fell,
because of humanity’s love for the depravity of hell.
No one helped, no one cared,
they all just looked on and stared.
And when it was over, each one walked away;
continuing indifferently with the rest of their day.
They may say something in passing to a friend,
but the church never mattered to them in the end.
© C Lampard, 2022