Will it be as a final capsizing;
souls down-dragged by a life’s wreckage,
swell-swallowed into Leviathan’s jaws?
Will it be as Dante’s spiraled descent;
eyes sealed shut by shame’s frosted tears,
laments locked in, in Cocytus’ cruel crust?
Or will it be a more modern Sheol;
water boarded, lungs fear-filled, confessions
coughed until there is enough to convict?
Or could the judgement of God be as this:
dawn’s tide on pebble hearts, softly lapping,
love-kissed into colour so we glisten in the sun.
A gentle turning of the shell to reveal
a hidden pearl, or our broken fragments as shingle
gathered by His waters and made into music.