Empty Pews

Light cracks the dust, fractured glass

casting colors broken and cold.

Pew after pew, empty

like the pockets of Sundays past,

a place where my footsteps no longer echo.

The bell tolls, hollow and distant,

wrapping the street in a fading hum.

I stop, breath caught on a rusted prayer,

the weight of silence heavier than hymns.

Stained glass holding onto fragments of faith,

a quiet space I left behind

and cannot quite leave.