Sunday Slaughter

And shafts of light do flood in though the cracks,
and splatter our feet with their verisimilitude

The rafters up above creak
with every gust of wind;


And the slow oozing
of blood
is to be heard in all the darkest corners.


Red stained slippers
carefully
pick their way through the carnage;


Ocassionaly toeing a corpse,
but never lingering
in one spot
for more
than a second.


The once sturdy stone building
seems to sway in the breeze;


Leaves chase each other through the echoing halls,
blown in through the new openings 
in the once impenetrable masonry.


The altar is stained red,
and pages
from hymn books
flutter slightly in the gloom;

And the screams of the disiples
are still as fresh in her mind
as the day she first started school.


With barely a whisper,
a window falls
in
before quietly
shattering on the grass 
below.


It is at this sound,
she turns back
to observe the destruction
in all it's full
and terrible
glory.