Dread
What is it about dread that controls us? The mixture of fear and loathing that
consumes the contents of an empty bottle, longing for concentration and proof.
Do we confuse the child within with the promise of loving past? To be trapped in
the closet crying insinuates passion that is manifested through burden of truth.
Fallen is the plight of earthbound angels with clipped wings of faith. Paralysis
inhibits the quest of sequestered fanaticism and belief. Eaten by earthly gilded
belief. Why does the clock taunt the merciful memories of divine imagery? Why
must that price be paid to know isolation? From birth the struggle defines and
outlines the matrix of conflicting souls. The constant crash and collision of
innocence tainted by truth. This feeling is certain and intoxicating. No truth could
be truer. No faith could be more devout. The absolution of death disembowels
the continuance of self-repair. Does the collar impair judgment or empower
concentration? Can the songs of holy impunity comfort like the caress of a
mother? Will the tears drown unselfish giving?
The answer is simple.
The journey is hard.
The gift is reverence.
Light, when will I learn the lesson?
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