. . .

An angel dressed as thought appeared,

Enrobed in wares of light.

And from the blinding glare I heard

An air of sage insight.

.

The hallowed blow had stirred alive

Those dormant drapes of death.

Concealer of the afterlife

Displaced by angel breath.

.

She spoke with dulcet voice so sweet,

Of topic juxtaposed.

Of souls a-weeping, gnashing teeth,

In hell where they reposed.

.

She spoke of quarters, lone, forlorn,

The denizen of hell.

Curiously, mention of brimstone,

Was not among her tell.

.

In fact, her hell was much alike

The world that we live in,

Where loneliness is meant to spike

As punishment for sin.

.

The angel left, the vision gone,

My mind driven a-clang.

I reasoned that she came to warn

Of isolation’s pang.

.

I promptly turned my sight therefore

To those I trust and love,

To tell them quick that this is so,

Before life ends abrupt.

. . .

Granville D. Austin