Slender beams of moonlight enter
this darkened chamber as I kneel,
always somber, always waiting,
Angelic forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the beam’s of light,
forming an image in my mind,
penetrating my darkened mood.
A reflection on an angel’s face.
I raise my head,
now as I submit to this impassive truth.
My faith is breaking,
as if those angelic face’s
cracked into a million pieces,
leaving fragments of my soul
lying there on the floor.
I am a sinner,
a daughter to Adam and Eve,
a martyr for a dying world.
At least that’s what I am lead to believe.