She walked in the cold, morning light,
after the torment of the Devil’s Legions.
Shaky legs, sallow skin, but maybe alright,
and maybe there’d be healing of lesions.
But she walked away from me, finding vision.
Alone in skeletal, naked trees and the snow,
I heard a thunderclap, saw heaven’s division.
She was going where I could not ever go.
She came back, smiling, at peace, glowing.
“I will go back to torment and those fires.”
“I will go back to Satan’s clutches, but knowing
my lesions, pains, will deliver others to heavenly spires.”
“I lay my life down to deliver them, and I’ll be a light
in the darkest of skies, and be with Our Father in Peace,
after the fires have consumed me, and he’ll hold me tight,
forever and ever, and my joy and love will never decrease.”
She took my hand, and we walked in the winter morn,
she heard the bird songs and the rushing creek, melting ice.
I watched her, now pale and humming and without scorn,
and knew paradise and salvation command a dear price.
Finally, we walked back to the squat, bland apartments.
She held my hand all the way to the door, then let it fall.
She was going back to pain and Infernal, gnashing departments.
And I could not hold her, soothe her, know her pain at all.
Inspired by an incident from the demonic possession of Annaleise Michel