Hail and rain beat the red off the tin barn roof. Thunder stutters while the salted tears of angels loosed from cream raiments pour onto the ground so much as snow stacked too early for the season. Apocalyptic droplets at the end of days that have run into themselves. Greed piled holiness tramping through the beautiful “could have beens” as the doomed masterpiece of the hopefully broken trod heavily across the land.
Trampled, trampled beneath the weight of heaven collapsing. Soaked, soaked in the dreams of all of those that once knew the direction they sought to follow. We let this happen. We let the monsters in and bred them in our hearts to be beggared, then sold off to the lowest bidder. We let this happen. We set fire to the oceans of life and love until their ashes drifted haphazardly across the ruins of our world. We let this happen. We decried the openness and jubilation at our fingertips to rejoice beneath the sun or moon-clad sky as free creatures wandering the magic that their brethren the stars choose to sparkle upon us. We let this happen. And now we rejoice in the blistering misery of our own defeat.
In the gasps of our failure, we can find ourselves. We are the dust of ancient suns decayed into life. We can reveal our nuclear radiance that would bless the entirety of time with an essence of gratitude and beauty so bright that it would shine into the endless void of the universe as a testament to what grew here. What fought and bled and lost and won and cried and mourned and shared and thrived and moved and wished and laughed and cheered and hoped and dreamed here. The lost will be brought into the welcoming arms of house and home as new families are born of that most primal and powerful light, love. Smile through tears most special ones, we stand at the cusp of all and nothing, let your eyes see the mysteries beyond, glimpse our eternal everything, and all that we had inside of us.
Hold each other close, and whisper your final breaths to those dearest. Our hour of despair and our hour of most compelling beauty comes now.
2 thoughts on “Hail and Thunder where Hope Meets the End”
How everything gets trampled on, becomes broken beyond repair, and yet, it’s still, beautiful, in its, unique, way…
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I always appreciate your comments, thank you. You’re very right, even when it seems that all that once shone has tarnished and been obliterated, the form that remains holds beauty in the same way that energy cannot be destroyed, simply changed.