By candlelight, the man would recite
Soft syllables against his ears, tongue rolling, forming words. A beautiful language hard to forget, still echoing in his pure mind.
Every night without fail.
A duty, a habit he never forgot lest he feel the wrath underground. The world was thrown aside this time; nothing came in the way of this time.
Lonely light in the dark
Alone in his worship, he sees with a sigh. No one to join in this blessed act. No matter, for the beings were with him. Believing is not all about seeing.
Surrounded by the weak of heart,
He sees the ignorant, the whores, the thieves. Leaders with no leading and injustice among them. The world is burning and no water can stop it.
Those who succumbed to the devils' calls
And behind the corrupt he sees the troublemaker - horns and all - watching its 'masterpiece' coming together. And with a cackle it leaves, searching for a new victim.
Who reaches out to the hearts of all.
He sees one, then he sees all. Every inch of this earth is covered with them. Their evil contagious and their words people ask for. He weeps and begs and in reply,
Patience, and you shall be rewarded.
YOU ARE READING
Landscape
PoetryYou only hinder yourself by concealing those feelings under a concrete mask. But remember, concrete cracks and I see your unmarred skin that's not tasted the flavour of living. You hide like a guilty thief. You steal away the experience so open y...
