a black cross

She's like a black cross looking over a desolate waste, the only sign of true beauty and salvation in a world full of death. I gaze at the cross, without want to avert my eyes and see the pain that surrounds me, enamored by her ability to shine despite the dark that surrounds her. The cross casts a shadow over my sorrow, covering my fear-stricken body with hope. I pray that she feels for me as I do for her.