In a dream I wandered through the cathedral of death the dust and smoke catching me in my throat as I counted myriad of souls that flew past me Amazed, were they, at how they now were, lost and bewildered.
And some so fresh, not of the first to die, responders so called, who came to help, to rescue and became part of the event, surprised in the act of dying desperately trying to contact their loved ones
even in death, and the white dust covering all even those who, in their mistaken belief thought that they were martyrs and in some spiritual world for heroesΒ Β and deservedly so, looking, for virgins
but all they found was disillusion as they wept for those whom they had dispatched to oblivion with one fell swoop and through a trick of fate and time they saw the future and what it would bring and were ashamed.