Sunday, July 31, 2022

Entombed

The door won’t open. Nothing I’ve tried will break its lock. 

And there are no windows here, in the dark below.

But I am not their prisoner. 

They put me here and locked me in for my protection. 

Now they’ve all fallen silent.

At least, the voices and human sounds have all gone. 

Though, I sometimes hear unearthly things.

After our pastor saw the visiting men looking at me, I was put here, in the church cellar.

I’ve collapsed from weakness on the doorstep, where I dream of bodies moving in the walls.

Finally, my scraping and banging is answered: the door opens.

I peek through the crack and see only the now pitifully neglected church hallways. 

I creep forward and call out.

An explorer to this centuries abandoned church stumbles back, 

aghast at the sight of me.