There is no bright blinding light

nor warmth of rapturous gods

waiting at the end of tunnels

no uplifting, lilting voices of invisible choirs;

sans seraphim and angels most bewitching

mortal tears cannot capture

the beauty of their being.

There is no darkness or demons lurking

inside a cauldron of fiery spheres

nor sulphuric screams over carnal pleasures

too jarring for the drum

and no appeals for brief release

from biting anguish to a distant lord.

I tell you Brother,

here we are fathered for higher purpose

honed from nightmares of the living