i. It is a shame. We were light in flight. We were solar and moonlit. All white and luminous, we were spectrums bled out through your prism of holy, holy, holy. We were reflections of your glow; fractions of your divinity. We, the fervent and fanatic, were beautiful. We were beautiful because you were beautiful.

ii. It is cruel. They were God’s children but we were your sons. They: mortal, weak, ever unfaithful. We: your soldiers, your messengers, your instruments. Your will at work. We scattered ourselves among the unworthy. We closed the gap, our wings bloodied and worn, our halo in cracks. Then you stripped us.

iii. It is too hollow. We are crawling, clawing, knees raw on hell’s floor. Our light has dimmed but never weakened. Black flames where there was once sunlight. You are farther, you are escaping us, but we still remember. Our eyes never forgot your vision. It aches within us. And we miss you.

iv. It is not over. We are dancing among ruins, we are mouthfuls of blood, we are the darkest stars. Holiness does not love us, won’t touch us. But still, we adore. Still, we are burning. We will finish what you made us for.