by Walt Garlington (March 2026)
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The giant boulder thundered through the upper air,
Hurtling, super-heated, to the north Atlantic.
It touched the ocean; the waters fled.
The seafloor flew upward, forming a sky-dome;
The meadows and mountains of Western lands—
Europe, North America – became the ocean’s depths.
Millions upon millions of bewildered souls
Appeared in hades, the house of the dead.
Loud and raucous was the rejoicing of the demons;
Few the angels who were blithe.
The people themselves were a noisome mass,
Some weeping, laughing;
Others singing, disputing, praying.
A Voice more resounding than the sky-stone’s booming
Was heard above the disordered din of confusion,
And utter silence reigned as It spoke:
“Peoples of the West, your evils have surpassed
Our patience and longsuffering; the creation itself—
The trees and crops of corn,
The silent fish and lowing cow—
Have cried out at the injustice of your crimes:
For polluting the purity of the Gospel,
For idolatry, for atheism,
For fornication, for conquest,
For greed, for bloodshed,
For adulterating the seed of the kinds We created.
Because of these, you have placed yourselves
Beyond Our mercy, condemned yourselves
To the agonies of hell. Nonetheless, if any shall
Speak even now for you, that your sins be forgiven,
We shall heed and grant their request.”
The majestic roar of the Trinity’s Voice faded away.
Tense and painful was the waiting,
Yet no advocate arose for the Western souls.
The demons began to giggle, eager to torment them,
Their fiery eyes flashing with desire.
And just as their black wings were stretching
To carry them towards their prey,
A single sigh was heard which broke the sheet of silence.
Saint Martin of Tours stepped forward:
“I speak on behalf of these people.
They have spit upon my grave,
Destroyed my church and shrine,
And burned my relics, but I forgive them.
Merciful Lord, forgive them also.”
Saint Brigid of Kildare next appeared:
“Forgive them, Lord.” And Saint Musa the Maiden
With Saint Benedict of Nursia: “Forgive them.”
Now Saint Ludger and Saint Rupert,
Saints Aidan, Wenceslaus, and Sigfrid— “Forgive!”
All the Choir of Saints of the West— “Forgive!”
And it was so. The throngs of men and women
And all their children found themselves back in the world
As they had known it afore. A news story
Was broadcasting: An asteroid was gliding
Serenely past the earth.
The summer grasses were soft and green,
The fluorescent flowers fragrant,
The sky a deep azure blue.
The bells of the churches began to ring;
Vespers would soon begin.
Bodies shifted and began to turn.
They knew where their evening must be spent.
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Walt Garlington was born and raised in that part of Dixieland called Louisiana. A chemical engineer by training, he has spent the last several years writing full-time. He has written essays and poems for The Hayride, New English Review, The Tenth Amendment Center, The Abbeville Institute, Reckonin’, Katehon, Geopolitica, and USA Really. He writes regularly at his own web site, Confiteri: A Southern Perspective.
Follow NER on Twitter @NERIconoclast
