The Conflagration of Rome

O, to away from here in anxious haste and reckon not with cosmic consequences so wrought by aged hands. Whose myopic visions gave no consideration of posterity, and the same who lived under accursed pretense that they be both first and last — the very same whose achromatic Christ promised hastened return if they but wreath the world in flame.

And so black smoke rises, and the sky falls, and those who’ve drawn heaven down upon our heads dare not look up. Cowards and curs fault sin beyond the chapel step but disregard the unsettled bones preying within the sanctuary of baroque cathedrals.

O, that we might blot out our progenitors and cast off their crimes for which we are called to give account. Is there no justice in Heaven? Has God been so struck blind? Do not the angels watch in wonder and rally to our cry?

Divine stars! Align yourselves against the wicked of this age who, with braids of gold, fashion for themselves a noose for a necklace. Let them sway as leaves in the gallow-groves of their sowing. Or! — may the rattling rebukes of their little gods empty their corrupted thoughts and bid them sleep, and sleep forevermore.

O, may you — my friends — pronounce your curse, upon those who defraud us our humanity — who put us at enmity with God and do pit us against ourselves. Make caverns of their chests and topple their damned towers. And there, let Rome reign in Hell.