Tu Animam Tuam Perisse

The utterances were trophies; the claims fell upon opened ears, and the whispers danced hand in hand with blasphemies voiced from the heart, and I saw in the mouth of a lioness dead men formed in ranks, like soldiers unprepared to die, and their shields were made of shames, and their swords were made of lies. When those lies cut the flesh, the victims did not bleed, but instead gave way to sin, harming those who were cut from the same cloth as they, and those holy kings said to the masses, hoc est opus dei [this is God’s work]. I sought to answer the question of why pain was inevitable, and why skies must shatter, and why visions must cloud as the Tempest gathered her cloak about her ethereal form and lent to the Earth her wrath and her tears, and I questioned the meaning of it all, soiling myself in woes as I witnessed the angels fall. No words came to mind, no answers, no dreams beyond nightmares of running through unknown districts, in the night, from something sight could not quite make whole; no words save tu animam tuam perisse; you have forfeited your soul. © 2012, Ryan Anthony Summers From "The Grey Muse" ( http://www.amazon.com/The-Grey-Muse-ebook/dp/B006YDMR1C/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1326920167&sr=8-3 ).