Pillar of Salt
The fire descends, a whispered dread,
Above the city of the dead.
And from the gate, a frantic flight,
Toward the mountains, toward the light.
The angel's law, a word of steel:
"Run, and let no backward feel.
No glance of sorrow, no fond gaze,
Lest ye be caught in judgment's maze."
A Draconian State, of salt and flame,
Where mercy holds a different name.
For to a glance, a heart's small ache,
A life is forfeit, for its sake.
So turns the head, against the will,
To see the city standing still.
One tear, one memory, one breath,
And then the cold, consuming death.
A pillar stands, of white and fine,
A woman's form, a grave divine.
A silent tomb, to mark the cost,
Of all that one brief look has lost.
Copyright ©
Jami Patterson
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