POEM: The Charnel Messiah — Verse 5

a sign

The darkness makes everyone blind,
but curses you with vision;
you see the seed and the rot,
the beginning and the ending,
things morph into the copy of where they came from,
they inhabit a dimension relative to yours,
‘otherworldly’ doesn’t cut it:
it’s like walking down a busy street
and seeing everyone, but no one
in yourself—
Uninhabited, I walk alone, the others
inhabit their own veritable veldts;
this journey is an affair of coastlines,
endless contours and shifting sands underfoot,
the wave of breaking fingernails,
a formidable cradle—

Hell isn’t a place,
hell is people.
It is what we find when we find what it is,
or so they say.

My eyes are sharpened by the immediacy of
my solitude,
this wave, that’s both black cloud above me,
and black dog following me,
the cloud stretching the little breezes of unfailing dusk,
the black dog loyal to my despair,
it follows wherever I go, skimming my way down—
skimming my way forward, (if forward is shuffling feet along)
it follows from nigh,
the cloud covers from on high,
I look around,
wondering whence from this infernal torment,
hell shall truly begin.

 

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