A dimly lit chapel left unlocked.
The pews sit in holy anticipation of
the morning,
when sunlight will shine through the
stained glass windows.
The aisle and altar both quiet and
unmoving,
all that lives here at night is a
single flame.
And I enter the resting chapel,
unsure of what I am searching for.
Inside, there is quiet and peace.
The faces of angels and saints watch me
as I wander down the dark aisle.
The flame burns above the altar,
sprouting out of a hanging candle,
softly illuminating the golden cross
behind,
and my face as I approach it,
the candle's meaning lost on me.
I'm a heathen in a christian chapel,
born outside of the church,
taught only to question and learn,
the Lord's prayer just jumbled
nonsense,
and yet I'm drawn to this very spot.
-Zero
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