Winter Dawn on Churchyard Ruins

A Poe-Inspired Poem with Hope. From an Iron Age Media Prompt: "The Calm"

The cold of nighttime finally ending, rosy fingers reaching, bending; Child of Morning—Dawn, extending

Glowing touch across the wintry mantle fallen on this land.

Amber light sends out its warming as it illumes an outline forming, forming in the frosty mist

Wherein the aged temple stands.

Tall, unyielding, still it stands.

While the town around it crumbles still the temple never stumbles though the passing years have humbled

What was once a shining beauty hale in frame and fair in face

And just beneath the mem’ry stones all rest her children’s faithful bones slumb’ring, waiting for the Master to return and heal this place

Glorify, revive this place

Some may take my hope for madness, seeing only signs of sadness, degradation and no gladness in this empty worship-place

But I remember comfort true that One above makes all things new, descending from the heavens

He will bring this fallen world to grace and sin and death shall have no trace,

Yes, amen, they’ll have no trace