The day blazed a opening ceremony for the dead still  in a world of sleepy conscious.
Trumpets sounded and fires rose from the curve of earths crust. 
His small and crumpled hand rose to his face to wipe the dust from his eyelids. 
Visions of a night spent in holy flourish fill his waiting cup. 
He looks around at the same dizzy bedroom and wishes for home. 
Home that never was seen with human eyes. 
His fortress, his sanction and blessed love live in the hollows of his slowly dying heart. 
And pain, she eludes him.
His hands so gently placed upon Her back she turns away. Fever rising in the depths of her icy river feet. 
The floor begins to creak and stir as he leaves his humble bed.
A trail of softened carpet makes a path to the door. He opens it quietly, and screams once more.  Flames, tendrils lick heavens blessings, burdening what could have been.