The lifting sound within my head
Stark, but resonant as the church bell
Which hangs from the chapel building
By withered rope of those who once held on.
Ringing daily - Once to wake,
Twice to rejoice, then third to sleep
How joyously the bell would ring.

As time grew older so would the bell
The bell would still ring, but every night
Each song was more like a
Dying heartbeat, the falling sun,
A restless whisper. Until
The bell would sing no more
Knowing soon the end was near.

Presently, it lays to rest in ruins,
Covered in rust and filled with cracks.
Though once I heard it from my bed
Gently sleepwalk in the morning
A song I never heard before
Reminding me of a Spanish love poem
The elder bell then paused and slept.

Nights turning to weeks now,
I hear no song by the old church bell.
Static sound consumes the song once brought
By the bell and the memories it gave me.
Now, all that plays is a brand new radio
Singing a different song with a different instrument
Nothing like the songs I once heard.

Over time, the citizens forget the church,
Then the songs once played,
And then finally the bell.
All that remains is a familiar tune,
Something light and colorful,
Right at the tip of my tongue -
But then I gave up and sang something else.