End Game

Here on Earth we wait.

Here we are waiting.

What comes in dreams

can no longer suffice,

can not soothe the raging within.

Raindrops make me still and alone.

Yet the fires still burn on.

Swift air blue and gray,

A tussled planet of angels,

A distant star warped nightly,

Peace has flown my sisters, my brothers,

Peace has flown and made herself

a home in a distant radius,

a distant fire burning with all the

rock of the heavens,

the sweet sephulchres

of time, the petty groveling goes on

and on down here.

Lift me higher in a vaccuous thought,

so that I may die screaming

in these final, flaming justices.