the chapel

i love vaguely dark sonnets

a single candle flickers in the dark

a journal gently laid next to the flame

she curls around the tiny lukewarm sparks

and prays to every god that she can name

“if someone can hear me, give me hope,”

she whispers to the fire burning dim

no one knows she’s slipping off a slope

no one knows her clothes are wearing thin

spectators questioned how the chapel burned

for no one was inside, they all agree

an act of god or devil unconcerned

with holy ground they built in ‘33

they could’ve thanked her, basking in its bliss

warm at last, and all it took was this.