Awoken:
Self condemnation,
Standing
at the edge of a lake
He whispers,
into the mist,
“Take me tomorrow.
Let me
starve today.”
The disease inherent
calls forth
his injuries;
wounds yet healed
and forgotten
in his heart’s
distractions
He sways
and shifts:
Standing in the roar
Of the Mass Mind
Fearing
The end
of the world:
He laughs
at the new
Liberation
we would become
Nothing but
a mockery
of the One
who has
Already
Ended
Slumber:
He gazes back
Upon his illness;
The rot
less threatening,
standing before the Sun,
a joke shone,
eclipsing
his
forever Moon
Clay The Scribe 