What happened to the days when your name was wrath, when your voice tore the trees of the forest and made mountains smoke? The trumpets blew, mankind trembled and fled at your decent— Your jealousy was a furnace and you made those who lessened your name like puppets to teach your chosen. Where’s the walled-sea? The cloud-flame? The one who made the earth swallow men? You who slaughtered idolaters not sparing the women or their dear ones, allowing their blood to pay toll. Calamity. Chaos. What do they name you now? Friendship and acceptance? Love and happiness? The Christmas spirit? Good Ol’ Saint Nick? Bah. Humbug. I don’t believe in Christmas. I don’t believe in satisfactory love and unconditional truth.