With you.

There is peace here.

The music is like the sound of many waters; but it is still here.

The wind blows loud like a trumpets sound, but my hearing is clear.

The fire scorches but it is scorn to my fear –
Even death is rest here.

The Refiner

Burn me beautiful,

Burn me lovely,

Burn me righteous,

Burn me holy.

Brand me with your name and I’ll be marked forever.

Let there be light

By Chandler Moore and Steffany Gretzinger

Death

I see roots of evergreen cypress trees floating within the clouds, as ocean waves break into floods. The floods find rest where i lay compressing my head into an array of darkness, while the cypress floats above it all like an evergreen water body graceful in its launch,

I consider the floods to the death;

A tragedy.