there's so many questions unasked.
so many unanswered.
the snow fell yesterday,
i watched as it clattered onto wet concrete and melted to ice,
just as i watched the rain cry the day earlier.
I stood in the chapel and waited for god's call,
or more so an answer to my very own.
i almost screamed in hopes he'd listen and respond.
I saw the tears stream down on my own reflection in the glass windows,
and quickly wiped them away with a flick of my thumb,
a pull of my sleeve.
And now i'm back surrounded by chapel walls and coloured glass shards,
with paintings of jesus.
hoping god hears me ask if we're all alright,
if things will ever be okay,
but there's no answer.
there never is.
YOU ARE READING
Kalopsia.
PoetryKalopsia • Noun ; The state in which everyone and everything looks beautiful. ✧一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 and here the words will bleed onto the page of each separate chapter in my mind, and the words will fall so effortlessly out of my eyes. 一 一一 一一...
