The sun burned mercilessly for a season,
drenching our land with heat,
inhaling the life from everything.
We watched as Creation gave up the ghost.
It died right before our eyes,
turning into a brown, crackling thing.
We prayed for rain until our knees
were bloody with faithful scabs,
calling on every god we could name.
When the rain started falling, hope fell with it.
We could rest and be refreshed,
grateful that the Divine listened to our pleading.
But with the rain came the lightning--
white fire from the sky,
Jupiter's weapon of choice.
The cruel trick that Nature and Fate
had played at the expense of our hearts
and our lives
Was that hell had been unleashed, and
it seemed that Peter was nowhere
to be found, fleeing again.
The flames jumped from place to place,
and somewhere in the haze of orange
we could see the face of Loki and Lucifer.
Those flames licked us clean, singed our hairs,
turned our skin pink, our homes to ashes,
and our hearts to coal.
We wondered aloud what circle of hell
we had fallen into, wondered when
the end of eternal fire would come.
Now all that is left is smoke and sand.
Scars have been etched into our
land, our knees, our hearts.
The God of heaven and fire has
given and taken away,
and we are left with only grace.