Adelaide’s Chapel

4:40 PM Marcellino DAmbrosio 0 Comments



A weary traveler once I came,
One cruel January night,
To St. Adelaide’s forgotten chapel
There, to‘wait the morning light.
And there, snow cold and numb flushed
From lady winter’s icy breath,
I crossed the tiled marble floor
To pray before my rest.

What hush?

Some murmur follows me,
And another, my neck pricks.
Could some hellish sprite have followed me
To mock my loneliness?

My steps, they echo back to me,
And each echo finds my ears.
They taunt me in my solitude:
For none are here…
            For none are here.

The pew is still, and at my side
My shadow crawles, a tangled knot.
It shifts to mock my loneliness:
 She knows you not!
            You know her not.

But there!

A flicker, sign of life,
A candle, friendless dances.
It hangs below the tabernacle,
An expectant waltz to light.

I harkened there to here her say
In a whisper hushed and wavering:
A word that shall ever able-make
Me bear this earthly pilgrimage:
There will come a day.
             There will come a day.

I'm Marcellino D'Ambrosio, and this is my social commentary. From Austrian Economics to Hangliding, from Jesus to Quidditch, I endevor to leave no leaf unturned. The Swing Set is an image of childlike joy, my muse and greatest aspiration. I hopes that you will join me in swinging; so read, comment, and think on, my friends.

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