I move in the tenebrae
When the candles are snuffed.
I sit in shadows
And wait for the return
I think may not come.

A wick cries in the darkness
“Why hast thou forsaken me?”
Suffered. Crucified. Dead. Buried.

Fumbling to find a match in my heart
To strike, and not miss

When doubt wraps in darkness,
And the wait seems too long.