Eschatological

Everyday living becomes more of a truculent battle; Where survival stands in the way of my living. While Instinctively trying to live. I need eyes in the back of my head, while scratching out a meager existence. Predators pulling us back from our every advancement: The outside problem is watching, the visceral actions of the tortured. Those who destroy this earth then fatuously charge us to live on it. Witnessing one act after another, of those reaping that which they have not sown. Watching the ecocatastrophes destroy the balance of nature relentlessly. Rent Due, because we who labor; Own Nothing - Be Taxed if you do, be dammed if you try. My internal problems have worsened from the external perennials of injustices which surround me.. Leaving me to dwell beneath the deleterious, Also take example from those with lesser insight and intellect. Blubbering, blithering, chicanery is going on, while most recently we’ve been awakened By snakes slithering into our homes, pretending to need a nap, or some rest. We become the test dummy, for once he crosses our threshold we are weakened. Why let them in you ask? Because he seemed so familiar. Of course, I recognized the way he slithered. He is your seed or the fruit of my womb. He has been here before, recidivist, is his rancored behavior, it brings undue guilt to those who, Feel Love for him. When the system gave him back; The automatic response of acceptance is visceral; After all you gave birth to him, Before the lobotomy and fake heart was installed, I gave him a life. But I gave him no eschatological, directions spiritually, I was yet caught up in believing my innate feelings; Still, I gave him, open minded answers; He had no conclusion but to call on the power within him. We all fatuously, and desperately seek spiritual help, as we reach our breaking points. We all must at some point, point our inward thoughts in an upward direction. No matter if we think it’s pointless. Not, we’ll have nowhere to turn, no one to cry to, answer to, or no God of our own to pray to. Now, feeling frustrated and meaningless, we become prey, or prey upon others. Until the worthy ones steal away into the quietus of silence and transcend. Those wicked incorporeal souls should wander aimlessly throughout the abyss, seeking mercy’s kiss: Until they've paid their just dues, the just will not rest. Until the debts from their draconian deeds have been paid in full. let them be stay weary and eat dust, and be aggravated until the God of mercy declares victory over their callous hearts. Only then shall the weary be avenged, and rule this earth again. Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2017