Nothing Not Even a Poem

Through the toil and the hunger past the point of no return the village held to ransom in the footsteps of wonder past the wild cathedral embers far between the broken mound the sky opened with a crash those folks will remember crashing for the week crashing for the strong crashing for the outcast and those who belong so the young ones and the old ones give praise when its due slowly comes the final tide brings driftwood in and out the birds would glide and swoop and the fish will dive and hide neath the fountain at the hill foot bides all kinds of fact and fiction and the branches crash overhead clinging to the tree , tree to root crashing for the silence crashing for the loud crashing for the peasant who stands out in the crowd so the winners and the losers find time when passing so the ringing of the church bell drew people far and few and the walls would crumble down to meet their hell and the thunder cracks the sky and sent the dogs insain and the birds would retreat from where they come to fly and the kind men and the losers take the used and the users then all will gather in line for judgment and condemnation if you go there now to the day not a clue you will find the only words that remain are the ones i am saying sure some rocks and bricks some stones and sticks lye by an old broken bell but nothing to convince you looking for the answers asking all the questions hoping to find some peoples confessions and the lookers and the finders and the tellers and the rest nothing not even a poem was left .... i have tryed to find a form to fit this pice in vain ..... if only someone could ease my pain k