You said “Goodbye Sara” and the ground opened up

a chasm between us. I was knocked off my feet.

 

Meanwhile elsewhere:

 

A horn-headed woman with a gown of stars

lay back and birthed a flaming sword.

 

A bright-shining Prince took up her sword and mounted a white horse

under eight burning suns that scorched the sky together.

 

Where He led the charge, Demons and Giants clashed,

hooves churned sparks from the rubble of ruined cities.

 

While the entire seething mass of sinning men cried out

for mercy, and found none, running underfoot like rats on the battlefield.

 

They were trampled into the bloodsoaked earth

bodies broken, their sufferings just begun.

 

When seven suns set, Fenris slipped his chain

and ate the last, and in darkness, the snow began to fall.

 

In that frozen silence I received your letter, and here is my reply:

“I’m sorry.”