tainted veins,
of purple and blue
colliding together,
a distinguishing hue.
a blindspot.
too dark to tell where it
starts or where it ends.
cold and damp
set apart from the
beckoning warmth
of a Father's love,
twisted in lies,
tortured by deception,
the love-child of a wayward,
imagination--
the Abyss.
it's a well crafted illusion,
by the one who wages destruction,
whose wrath rages against
the ones who pray,
they become his prey.
blissfully ignorant sheep,
struck blind by the void left
by immortality and shame.
the truth of everlasting love,
pushed far into peripheral sight,
tricks the heart and poisons the mind,
to only see the Abyss, to become lost
in the blackhole created by the one
who seeks to devastate humanity.
the Abyss,
a figment of one's imagination,
a dark place that exists in limbo,
is conquered by the truth
that
it
isn't
really
there.
Showing posts with label interpretations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label interpretations. Show all posts
31.5.10
19.4.10
Phoenix.
I forgive you.
The words escape her mouth, like wisps of smoke set free from the burning embers of a cigarette.
She suddenly panics at the impending sense of loneliness. Those words had become her constant companion. She frantically runs after the wayward words in a futile attempt to recapture them and hold them neatly inside her.
No, they're too far from my reach.
She slumps down on the cold linoleum floor. She had held on to the thought for a long time, the thought of forgiveness, the ideals of reconciliation. She had nourished them insider her, as a mother nourishes a growing fetus. Now, she had let them go. Doubt lays hold of her, in her exhausted state.
She wonders if she's ready. She wonders if they're ready.
The growing realization of the journey ahead looms ominously above her and surrounds her, like flies drawn to ripening fruit. She tries to swat them away. I can't. I can't do it. What if I die?
But the conflict of desire and comfort and self-denial for the purpose of love and obedience is an ever-persevering Mentor. She knows, as history has foretold and from the stories of old, that in the asphyxiation of her own pride, a new self emerges. One stronger than the last. One who knows love. One who knows forgiveness.
The words escape her mouth, like wisps of smoke set free from the burning embers of a cigarette.
She suddenly panics at the impending sense of loneliness. Those words had become her constant companion. She frantically runs after the wayward words in a futile attempt to recapture them and hold them neatly inside her.
No, they're too far from my reach.
She slumps down on the cold linoleum floor. She had held on to the thought for a long time, the thought of forgiveness, the ideals of reconciliation. She had nourished them insider her, as a mother nourishes a growing fetus. Now, she had let them go. Doubt lays hold of her, in her exhausted state.
She wonders if she's ready. She wonders if they're ready.
The growing realization of the journey ahead looms ominously above her and surrounds her, like flies drawn to ripening fruit. She tries to swat them away. I can't. I can't do it. What if I die?
But the conflict of desire and comfort and self-denial for the purpose of love and obedience is an ever-persevering Mentor. She knows, as history has foretold and from the stories of old, that in the asphyxiation of her own pride, a new self emerges. One stronger than the last. One who knows love. One who knows forgiveness.
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