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Churchyard 2
June 22, 2015
A house of God they said,
It stood in all its glory,
But made a mere slip of a girl
less pure that the act was holy,
In the basement of that church
and on the floor so cold,
His urging hands grew on her
just like aging mold,
Her art only held his face,
her music held his moans,
She never cried after that night
even when she was alone,
She used to want to forget,
She used to want to die,
Long ago that girl was me
and to him I'll say goodbye.
© Daniel H., Oak Bluffs, MA
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