The Chapel

The Chapel
by Vivian Gilbert Zabel

Like a chapel on a rugged crag, its steeple pointing upward,
My life doesn’t huddle protected in the valley
Beneath trees that keep the blistering sun at bay.
Walls of stone slow not the power of pounding wind.
No, my chapel fights to withstand the snarling gales,
Baking heat, and freezing chill, unshielded from attack.

Yet, as I gaze around me, eyes wide in wonder
At the panorama spread where e‘er I survey,
The view is worth the struggle, strife, and pain.
Where else can I see what beauty can be found?
Unless I live above the clutter, near the clouds,
Despite the storms that shake life’s walls,
I would miss the majesty that can abound.

The path to my mountain top may be steep
Over the jagged teeth of angry rocks.
Yet the trip merits the difficulty, the distress
Even if a towering tempest hides the sun,
For a rainbow will follow the rain someday,
Even if the storm wipes the chapel away.