A writing exercise from my experience at the WRiters guild

"It's too far, I can't do it".  The overgrown trail stretches for what seems like miles.  Coming into view, the simplistic, yet strong stone building was wearing away.

Stones were missing from front, and some lay scattered around the foundation.  There were no glass window.  Just stone, crumbled mortar, a steeple that once proudly displayed a cross.  The walk was long but seeing the structure, even though it slowly gave way to itself- there remained a sense reverence.  A beauty in its brokenness.

And next a poem:

My Father, The Bastard

Oh lucky Father!

The universe treats you well!

Your misdoings and heavy hand, they earn you big stories and chance meetings.

Go ahead and drink Daddy,

Close the bar down!

Don't worry about the nonbelievers, our cousin is in town!

While he bears witness and you play it cool-

Dave Grohl will come around!

Never mind your lusting daughter, let her sleep, my Father, the bastard.