St Mary's church, Wedmore

within the s l o w
sleepless, cog of night
a hammer fist, 'Struck'
that baited bell

and it did toll

for centuries
it quartered
each one of the hours
rejoicing and mourning
with flowers that showered
its spoken townsfolk

for it knew
those sordid secrets
oh, it bloody well knew. . .
for

stored in its crushed-core
of muted words
lay trapped
their devil-sins

it grabbed at the
sunken monks
d r a g g i n g
their flailing habits

d
o
w
n

d
o
w
n

d
o
w
n

into the buggering bogs

place, now, your hands
and understand
the walls of this
hallowed church
feel how the:

- cold dark stones
- soulless moans
- choking screams
- rotting dreams

Seem to Wheeze...

in the light-morning haze
eyes glaze over white
and the bells
and the bells
they still toll
and they tell
of

dark fronted facades
reflecting glass masks
of an image that gleams
you can't know
what it means
when

molten brass bones
age slowly and groan
in the voice of the beast
for the souls, he will keep
in the bells that still toll

ever ringing
ever burning
forever
and ever
and ever
in hell

.

- Mr. Darcy
© 2019