The Lonely Feather

The lonely feather, stained crimson red,
Drifted gently down in the vast space of the church
One little thing in a mass of once-been splendour
Hovering over the organ
Where a hollow skeleton played its empty tune

Red, the fires of Hell
Home of the eternally damned
Broken remnants of the once-beautiful glass
Shines down upon the feather, whose own red is momentarily forgotten

Now it drifts into the blue and green
Peaceful shades to sofen the blood-stained feather
Fragments of the Virgin Mary holds out her hand
Forgiveness, peace, love
What the feather once knew

As it floats in and around the pews,
Desparate souls reach out
Wanting to clasp a relic of their faith
But the feather brushed past them all
Landing on the tattered altar cloth
Awaiting its owner
Perhaps forever
The lonely feather, stained crimson red.