… and behold them frequently

I just found this little prayer in one of my Grandfather’s old World War Two books. It would seem Sergeant Richter of the Waffen-SS has found these words before me…

“… The moon was nowhere to be seen. But then again neither was the sun shining when Major Faust of the Waffen-SS parked in front of the former Polski Broadcasting studio, which had been repurposed by the Third Reich after the German occupation of Warsaw, Poland. Music was no longer a function there. Instead, there were the heavily draped red banners bearing the black swastika that gave those halls purpose. And beneath those glorious banners were two sandbagged machine gun nests occupied by four men who were convinced of the philosophy demonstrated by those symbols of liberation. And because they were so convinced of the blessing that was the swastika they made a point of always keeping their machine guns loaded should anyone seek to threaten what they valued wholeheartedly. And those four soldiers were there, too, not just to protect this extension of the Third Reich, but to also offer men like Major Faust and Sergeant Richter a proper salute upon arrival… Egos meant a great deal in the 20th century, after all. And these men saluted perfectly, knowing that every time a patriotic German did his duty the Angles were there to sing for them. And a proud German could hear that singing when he stepped into the halls of any German structure, because God had blessed the foundations of these buildings. So, then, do not disgrace Sergeant Richter’s subtle elation when his comrades welcomed him into their base, and by no means condemn the man for resting his ears upon the voices of Angels when he stepped into the former Polski Broadcasting studio. He stared up at a great color portrait of The Fuhrer that dominated the face of the spiral staircase before him. He was humbled by the authority of his leader. And the Angels began to sing louder and louder until it seemed that all the Angels in the heavens had joined together. And I heard it, too… I truly did. I knew then that these men were not misguided. I stood corrected: music remained a function of these halls. Isn’t it obvious by now, dear reader, that there is more than one language of heaven and earth?

About Connor Wilkins

Quickly, quickly... take your seat. Our storyteller is about to begin. Shhhh. Listen... His pipes are fluting emotions of myth and fable, but don't be fooled by fantasia for there are truths hidden within his unworldly tellings. We're drifting now... back in time to a world only he remembers.
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