You shake them awake, you preach to them that their dreams will be golden and that a divine oblivion awaits, the angels will tremble, the oceans ablaze, altars incinerated, the clouds...cremated, the bright-light flashes and thunderous voice overhead, millions of people with a seraphic glow as the fissures open like church doors, the wooden buildings turn to ash, the blest realm of endless light, a plateau of ever blooming volcanic flowers, our unfaded shadows, our dying lamps and a small hand holding a small rose in the white sand, her pensive ghosts and a small pulse, her waxen orchids and rolling fields of perfumed teasel, the mother, the daughter, small faces and small voices, round eyes and sharp lips, the smiling cherub, strange horses, do not fear, do not breathe, you will see, it is beautified for thee, a pristine breeze, sanctified and holy, it's for you, it's for me, it's holy as far as you can see.