Isaiah 6

Air humid with wingbeats,
sky shaking with smoke
from the fire of his holiness.

What could I do but die?
When I was four years old
and angry, I yelled wickedness.

I wanted to destroy.
Now I crumble
under the gaze of the seraphim.

I am a destroyer.
How can I stand before
the One Who Heals?

But…what is healing?
The staggering kiss
of flame, the sudden light

as every evil undoes
itself in my heart,
as evil itself departs.

***

His voice is so loud:
“Forgiven, forgiven,
forgiven.”

Lord of Heaven’s Armies, how long?
How long until Zion
touches her lips to this truth?

How long until my story
of salvation becomes an anthem
for every evildoer?

My tongue still burns
as he describes destruction.
Lands wasted by fire,

this fire, this same holy fire
that both purges and purifies,
that turns trees to stumps

and stumps to trees.
”And who will light this holy fire?”

Here I am. Send me.