A burning of pages, on my front porch

I’m now sat upon the cold concrete with words ablaze in my hand. Smoke has filled my lungs and tears have dried my eyes.

A revelation. Care not if these be true for my family is destroyed because of them.

She, my wife, believed the time was nigh. The voices of angels were ringing and the sounds of trumpets drowned her mind in a thick deceitful fog.

“Incorruptible” she sang. With arms aloft and fingers agape she cried to the artex “the dead shall be raised, and we shall be changed!”

In a moment of clarity, her knowledge of impurity was worn upon her like a weighted, gilded black hood. She knew her daughter was not yet worthy.

If only I’d seen it. Seen past her “phase”.

I was out of sight and mind and wish I could have been there when she, my wife, the judge, removed the breath from her, our daughter, her sweet lungs.

What dreams I was having: The thick and unyielding grass saved the way for the serpent to evade my grasp, until she woke me I chased the deceiver through forbidden courts and bellowed at the ache of wake and the bright lights seared my eyes. I saw her, she sat rocking back and forth whispering songs of joy to the saviour. Praise be.

I checked the time, 4-13. The silence was deafening and I had an inkling it was feeding time, but no cries graced my ears. It was my own cries that would deafen the deaf and all hell unfolded. She was gone, taken in her pre-baptism.

Now I sit, epistles ablaze before me. Car lights, blue and red and blue and red, I couldn’t focus on either.

She believed it was what she had to do, I stated. My sweet daughter is gone now!

And she awaits an iron rapture beyond the bars of justice, she will never hear those trumpets again.

A mind so out of order, shall find no peace in heaven.