Black as the arms of death

barely touch those souls, once

ensnared by the shadows…

now fleeing as the blood

of the Anointed is poured

like wine. His breath—

like fire slays the wicked in

the ebb of the dark. Now,

the light has shone …

Tears left no trace

among faces but

dazzlingly bright smiles.

Wicks—no longer beguiled

by the wind but stilled…

while the angels are yet to

flutter, singing hymns to

the Mighty One.