In the distance I can hear the preacher man scream Gospel verses to the patrons with ears tried enough to listen.

On this table I meet one hundred ants who didn't know the end would come sooner than expected
Some survivors mourn the table cloth body count.
Others trample on without worry.

Forgive them Father, they know not what they do

Forgive them Mother, they lost fathers and mothers too

The struggle comes not from death but the belief that your fate is greater than the fallen before you.

I watch this congregation.
Hear the prayers of those still struggling to find the most peaceful way to apologize.

And it all stops.
At this time I wonder if heaven can be folded up and shaken out this easily.
If angels ever feel their wings begin to fall this fast.