by a lady in black

Empty souls fill empty cathedrals and sinners begin to pray.  

The saints serenade their ears with praise, but the angels remain still.

The sinners have bruised knuckles and scorched hearts, and they don't know any better.  

They've arrived unwelcome.  

Not by God and not by the angels, but the congregation cannot tear their tandem gaze.

Sinners perspire from the fire.  

They've seen Hell and it isn't a place, it resides in the eyes of the saints.

And although light is pouring from the stain glass windows, coloring rainbows on their clammy skin, they are wishing they hadn't come.  

They are wishing they would've stayed kneeling beside their bed in the dark like they always have.

That would be less damning.

- S.H.