A Devil to our Divinity
There are fires, my dear, in dark and lonely places. We rarely give them names. Yet they burn with the agonizing fury of Revelation, too hot for the gods to vanquish, too deep for the mind to calm. With anticipation they grow, and the flames send flesh into the sky, red embers like comets screaming toward heavenly bodies, soaring, streaking, foolish and fiery.
But expectation plays a devil to our divinity, and reality sees that comet crashing into our own uncultivated wastelands. Solitude then, after anticipation, burns with a much darker flame, until the ashes of a cooling universe blanket