When admiration turns to envy, when pride begets its final fall.
When greed and lust appear so fragile, where is the meaning in it all?
The sorrow, hatred and despair that lap like waves upon the shore.
This emptiness, is it all that we can ever hope for?
The faces of the dead were waiting.
I didn’t join them but instead….
What did I hope for when I entered?
This place where no one ever tread.
Descending deep into my memories, their history avulsed.
Repulsed no longer by the curses and the warnings.
Alone the silence tolls, the sound of lead.
To dread all and to long for nothing, but instead…
The room is empty, save the body
It hangs like treachery embodied.
It has no face.
Beyond all grace.
Do not mistake it for a corpse.
Do not mistake it for salvation.
It is the sacrifice of daily life.
It is excess, the truth in deprivation.
What is the ultimate alienation?
The fires of hell born from the deepest hate.
The icy plains of Cocytus perhaps,
Electric chair, a short path to damnation.
But there’s no horror in it all, it all makes sense somehow.
A cup of water to quench thirst, an execution to quench strife
The world makes sense that much is known, although we say it is not so.
Isn’t it easy using words to speak of death and life?
To speak of metaphor and simile and anyhow,
Behind our words, I see no aberration.
We know that meaning won’t collapse.
But darkness comes, and so alone we wait,
Preparing for the morning’s reincarnation.
And sacrifice turns to excess, and order to degeneration.
The truth exposed, laid bare under the scythe.
For in this truth there’s no salvation.
There is no admiration for the world that it now warps.
Reality, grotesque, appears so calm without its face.
The horrors let loose in my mind, that I no longer can erase.
At first in memory crawling disembodied,
They dwell within the sacred body,
Of humankind and now I see that they embed.
Under its skin, incarnate and I feel dread.
And I remember, it’s all forgotten in the mornings.
Without a warning, these images by light of day expulsed.
Is it worth living when our reality is dead?
Did I expect this when I entered? Was my pride really so self-centered?
I hear the silent bells, I hear the sound of lead.
I know that they are waiting, the world it is dictating.
This emptiness from times of yore,
The madness crests and screams its maddened call.
The room is bare, save for the body that hangs in thrall.
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