The Flame Alchemist and his Friend
For loss of this, my revenge.
To feel such hate such love came
first. My tears for this:
the consolation of your affection
once unnoticed, or barely,
now not forgotten. Your steady
hand which sought to curb
the recklessness of my own
cannot calm me here.
Here is no room for forgiveness.
The memory of your simple warmth,
your patient love,
teaches not my grief.
Oh, God; that anyone should die for me!
Should my justice be slow, meticulous?
Or should it rage in fast
certainty,
in sudden proclamation drive
my pain to split such fragile fabric as what
I have discovered our world is made of;
in a gust, a scream, a tempest of triumph
blasting even my own body
back to the dust? In
an explosion vigorous, self-consuming,
my death and Its —
in a pulsating bed of flames
in the broken landscape of
hell?