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What is sung by the prophets is but the same song sung across time, the coming of the sword, the world devoured by fire, the sun gone down into the Earth at noon and the world cast in darkness…The prophet sings not of the end of the world, but what has been done and what will be done and what is being done to some but not others, that the world is always ending over and over again in one place, but not in another

…seeing the missed opportunities grow before her, and how they could’ve escaped, all of it dust, all of it and nothingness in false past and she sees herself in a hole in the Earth and she sees the best parts of her love, sees how one thing gives to another thing and how her life has been consumed by some law of force that governs all and she is nothing within it, but a speck of dust, a small mark of endurance

Death stood before her in brazen signal and she did not look but ran into its arms without thinking of her children, and it is grief that seizes hold of her when she sees her children abandoned, seeing how she was told and did not listen, it was your duty to deliver them from danger, but instead you stood your ground, such foolishness and blindness before the facts, you should have got them out.

She holds him in her arms, seeking in her whispers to rebuild for her son the old world of laws that lies broken at his feet, for what is the world to a child when a father without word can be made to disappear? The world gives to chaos, the ground you walk on flies into the air and the sun shines dark on your head.

Adults always think they can protect children by stopping them from going to dangerous places, but every teenager knows that’s pointless, because the most dangerous place on earth is inside us. Fragile hearts break in palaces and in dark alleys alike.

Forgiveness, the way her mother had described it, wasn’t something that shot up out of the soil; it had to creep in over time, like a vine.