Rapture

The cords finally snapped,
Flailing backward into the hands of gravity.
An already fragile creation is shattering against the weight of only air.
Freedom suddenly feels heavy enough to anchor the earth from turning.
The days trudge onward as the dams fall and flood,
With the last angels wading through the muck of the damned.
It's a baptism of madness, and we are not redeemed.
Sad eyes and empty hearts are feeding on the lining of shriveled stomachs.
Hungry souls aching for rest.
If the end is coming, I'll take my flogging if it means this life is no more.