Spitballs

Dragonfly

Sidewalk with a dragonfly

Lay there, soft, ready to die

Wings, a shattered tapestry

From some window, left to be

Glass was silent, sitting, still

Casting shimmers on the hill

Legs were columns of a church

Given way to leave and lurch

Once a humble, peaceful home

Now an empty shell of stone

Steeple lifted to the sky

As if, in one last desperate cry

It shrieked a flame of pure remorse

To stay it from its present course

But then began to weave and wobble

Now a crippled twisted topple

Eyes, a priestess crying dirt

Nothing but some dust and hurt

Tears bled down her mournful face

Looked around her hallowed place

Gave up on the thought of grace

The church, a vacant building