Chapel
- Erika Moreira Tomasino
- Apr 6, 2024
- 1 min read
The most noticeable thing heard is opening doors.
Occasionally the small mumbling of a
Pleading child.
Rarely the tears of a
Mother dripping onto the floor.
The flames upon the wax candles
Sizzling, as hands are clasped together.
Turning of pages,
Flipping to a desperate prayer.
As bells ring,
This moment is gone.
The silence is lifted
And you’re forced to move on.
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