CHOIRS IN HELL

When you believe your wound is necessary for your salvation,

it is then you may hear the angelic choirs in hell. 

With every ache of redemptive satisfaction that sanctifies your suffering,

the cathedrals of perdition fill with laughing voices of ecstatic surrender.

With strained beauty, perfected imprecision echoes in a mournful minor key,

reminding you always no one evades their flawed nature or mortal destiny.

When there is no escaping the heartbreaking joy of the chorus’ lilting loss,

no avoiding the horrendous harmonies of knowing the depths of your fate,

with every crescendo the notes shoot home to the heart of the matter,

a sinking feeling takes you away on the realization – they all sing about you.

They greet you with a requiem mass sung backwards from your death to birth,

a beginning with a pre-ordained end as assuredly as the coda trails into silence.

When you cling to vestiges of faith that your dreams in lost ideals are not in vain,

it is then you may join in and empty your heart in a boisterous solo, Canto Sciocco. 

As the gibberish of your tortured verse reverberates through a shaming life review,

the key changes and you cry out for the trickster truth to twist away from your heart.

A horrible insight bridges to the last movement of despair, for this requiem is not for you 

but for your hopes of resurrecting the innocent desires of your pure, inner child.