Letras
The deafening blast of metal and glass
gives way to noxious qualms of kerosene.
The fear finally sets in when
the floor begins to warm like the plancha.
There's nowhere to go but down from here.
Where he was standing shortly before,
but abandoned to join the other puzzled faces searching frantically at the window
for a sign of the ungodly horrors taking place below.
To the left, people rushing to the stairs
only to be pushed back by the rising heat and smoke.
To the right, windows shattering,
others eyeing the terrifying drop.
The hair on his arms starts to curl
reaching the blistering point of convection.
Tears drying in his eyes frantically searching for an exit.
Panic becomes nausea, becomes hopelessness,
and then sadness
as he thinks of his children
who will never hear his goodbyes.
This pain is so unbearable that I think I might sell my soul
to feel some relief.
If I stay here, I'll slowly fade, licked away by the torturous flames.
And if I leave, I'll commit a cardinal sin, but have one moment of quiet before this all ends.
Is it selfish to want these few moments of release
and what will happen to my soul if I indulge them?
Maybe God will lend me a miracle...
While tumbling down, for just one moment,
as true as the needle of a compass,
velocity propels him toward his future and away from his
loved ones,
from whom he begs forgiveness.
For on the other side, they may stand across a great divide.
His hell, their distance. Unable to feel their love.
Could be the forked lies of the devil,
consuming the final thoughts in his mind.