The Chapel

There is a picture of you
sitting next to chapel.

Fanned by the wind and long summer grass.

Someone else had this glimpse.
I wanted to own
THIS little moment of your soul....

And I got it...
In the long rainy afternoons,
sinked into a sofa
just being silent...

Foreheads like trees,
and minds like roots.

Now the pages of our book are dusty,
lying in the depths,
bleared by the veils of time.

Locked in a room with cold stone walls,
I am wishing to scream.
But there is no sound when I open my mouth...