Mysterium Tremendum

by Pavel Chichikov

A multitude that does not burn, ascends,

Faces of the long forgotten dead, those bombed,

Those melted past coherence, sent

Flowing, one unceasing pika don

Children glued like flies in melted tar

Spilled from cruet boulevards cry out,

Eyes devoured by a morning star

At Hiroshima, snuffed, a candle shout

Whips of burning, massacre en mass,

Cross of street and river intersected,

Crown of thorns of incandescent glass,

Sacrifice of virgin flesh confected

Children of the dust, the dust that killed them

Rising in mysterium tremendum

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