We Celebrate
The Death
Of all things
Thought heard
A golden horn
Blown, sounding
A proclamation
That the rapture
Is upon us

the self-appointed
to my left sighed

Dirty bastards
come and get me,
declared the man
at the end of the bar

In a deep breath
I swear I could
Smell eternity
For the first time
A tap at my shoulder
Judgement stood, waiting

I turned

Last call, the bartender
shouted, wringing
a filthy bar rag
between trembling hands

I know

The flames
Lick the back
Of my neck
With a whisper
In my ear, smiling
Hands promising
Batting eyes
As a thousand times
The righteous fall
Around me, lights
Once shown bright
Extinguished, bursting
From my eyes

On this day, turns out
No one would be saved