November

Issue 50

Within the eternal city, the streets lead to shadowed alcoves, to open squares filled with light. The streets lie dappled below the coming storm. Kindle—life begins with the sudden spark, the pillar of fire.  Words burn from the tongues of angels, a warmth that purifies into flesh incorruptible.  In the city of saints, wisdom is the light that guides love and hope our compass points compassion our vessel on holy water. We seek truth, speak truth.  Fiat lux. The eternal city within is filled with angels, wings flexed to dance, poised to strike. Quench—death to the firefly flicker, the promise of light. Ours is a burning that consumes nothing, creates no ash to nurture and bring change. Words chill, still on lips that forget the motions of song. In the city of the lost, darkness cradles us in rough arms and pulls us into the lies that damned.   Fiat umbra. Within the eternal city within the heart's cathedral blood sings like angels, fell and bright.  Fiat vitae.