Taking a picture of a burnt church on a blue skied day

I saw a church ahead of me.
Flanked by an ancient bloody house 
and a dominating golden cathedral. 
Tarnished bolted lock, no key. 
Blistered double doors. 
Stained with ebony ashes 
along the lining of the windows. 
Windows that were probably 
myriads of colors burgundy, orange, emerald 
now just dark empty wounds. 
An octagon bell tower with skin flaking off 
on either side a sallow cross
pointing up to the surge of cobalt sky. 
I kneel down in front 
snap a picture from the bottom up. 
Capture the bell tower 
standing tall against the creamy skies and 
the wooden white crosses 
catching the blazing afternoon sun.