I found her spine beneath the stone Not broken, but waiting. I whispered her name into the lungs of the wind. And the ground answered with bells. Her pillars were made of regrets. Her choir - a thousand forgotten oaths. Her roof - a sky stitched shut with longing. I stepped inside with bleeding feet. - CHAPEL! Where the soul ignites in bone! - CHAPEL! Where the storm becomes a throne! I screamed your name into the vault And the echoes broke like salt! - CHAPEL! Sanctuary of the unseen flame! The stained glass blinked. The choir cracked. And somewhere in the pews I heard my mother’s voice screaming backwards. She fed the silence to the lamb. She sewed her prayer into my hand. I wore it like a second skin. I peeled it off to let light in. - CHAPEL! Where the wind forgets to lie! - CHAPEL! Where the broken learn to fly! My voice split open your stained air And I saw fire in your stare! CHAPEL! Womb of madness, made of grace! So build me not a coffin, but a hall. Fill it with names no one remembers. Let it echo. Let it bleed. Call it Chapel.
