The Curse of Lovers

As the church bell tolls,

The pigeons flew away from the parapet.

The shiny old white threads left on the

Red aisle runner

Struggle to break up from its clutches.

The wind becomes the professional bench drummer of hallelujahs,

And the pages of the Bible search for a reader.

As I entered, the guilty cobwebs hide

Their faces behind the Chandelier,

reflecting its complex housing.

A curse has consumed this place,

The curse of lovers who were left at the altar.

The church stopped functioning,

someday,

Because the people stopped coming someday.

And the choir stopped singing,

The weddings stopped

And nobody was left at the altar.

They say it is the curse,

The curse of seven lovers who were left at the altar,

Over the seven years.

The lovers who left the town in shame

Never came back.

But people shared stories of cruel brides and cruel grooms,

Who left their lovers at the altar.

They sewed and stitched stories,

They made tea and poured stories,

They read and shared stories.

Stories traveled and consumed everyone,

They claimed to see apparitions,

ghosts, witches, bloodied bodies and

Gruesomely scattered hairs.

More and more left the town,

Fearing the curse,

Collecting their money,

Leaving their properties.

And here I stand in the cursed town,

My visit made no difference,

No soul came back,

Only the silence of the abandoned town accompanied me.

I stood at the lonely aisle,

smelling the dusty air,

Lamenting over the masterpieces.

And I wondered about the curses,

Not of the lovers,

But these buildings and structures

That was left alone in the town,

The curse that made them

Forever abandoned places,

Trapped in the body of a cursed town.

A. C

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