A Barrage Of Fire Poem by Adrianne Quinlan

Lines on the disastrous 87th Street, Cleveland house fire

Judgment day and God is under the spotlight now.
In a great cone-shaped arena
With the accused in the pit
And the people tiered above Him,
Gavels in hand, banging out their ire.

Two posing questions, robed and pacing,
Speak for the multitude.
Like razor-wire fire
Questions zap and sting,
Blasting the night:
'What were your motives
That so many should suffer-
That you should take nine in false fire
Before their time? ! '

'Is that sweat on His forehead
Or light-specks reflecting from His halo? '
Severe heat cracks the sky
And profound anger booms
And ripples to distant cities.
Why? -Why? -Why? -Why? -Why?

And like the finally of fireworks on the 4th,
Questions come in heavy clouds of smoke,
But without the beauty of chrysanthemums or palms,
And we struggle to hear, to see.

As the smoke screen fades
The spotlight shines on just an empty hot-seat.
The interrogators turn to the multitude,
Palms heavenward in despair,
Unsure if He was ever really there.