Time & time again I've passed it; its old weathered doors, its crumbling steps, & its stained glass remnants of a faith long since supplanted from its grounds. The muffled scuff of my worn work boots click-clack along the well trod cobblestones that lie in its ominous shadow, stopping just for a second to take in its former majesty. The wind carries with it the spirits of the forgotten as it whips through the exposed rafters & returns to bear its divinity as it softly caresses my skin & lovingly lifts the straggling hairs from my brow. Tranquility. It's a rush of warmth from deep within that spreads capriciously throughout my limbs. It is memory, the recollection of time long gone & people long since passed. It is the warm hearth unto which I hang the foundations of my being, the essence of my inspiration. But with the expiration of this town so too has its chapel diminished. Short of ruin, these mildewed & rotting halls once bore witness to all the goings on we as a community shared. This sanctified ground once saw fit to host unions, separations, celebrations, & seasons of mourning. It now plays host to not but the few pigeons that call it home & the ghosts & echos of the kinship of a bygone age.