As ghostly
words echo in the rift, choirs
sing loudly, angelic voices of wonder and welcoming,
reaching out an open palm to the mind that is
pliable, lost and blind. The candles to their god
burn bright in the confused darkness of this unreal
realm. The flickering flames of promised hope channel their
warmth in a cold harsh environment of betrayal
and confusion, and occasionally, occasionally,
a convert feeds from the flame and is sated, fuelled
by the smouldering embers of the fire.
sing loudly, angelic voices of wonder and welcoming,
reaching out an open palm to the mind that is
pliable, lost and blind. The candles to their god
burn bright in the confused darkness of this unreal
realm. The flickering flames of promised hope channel their
warmth in a cold harsh environment of betrayal
and confusion, and occasionally, occasionally,
a convert feeds from the flame and is sated, fuelled
by the smouldering embers of the fire.
One
by one they appear, then disappear, fading
as their candles burn to the last waxen drop.
as their candles burn to the last waxen drop.
Charred,
their belief in their own deity overcomes
them and as the dawn arrives they are gone,
nevermore to worship with their simplicity. Silent
in the crescendo, the cacophony of sound that
enticed them to this new religion silences them in the
them and as the dawn arrives they are gone,
nevermore to worship with their simplicity. Silent
in the crescendo, the cacophony of sound that
enticed them to this new religion silences them in the
vast
emptiness of the space between illusion and reality.
And
once again the battle is drawn, as the gods of
enlightenment continue the quest for control.
enlightenment continue the quest for control.
Discordant
melodies play out their rhythmless
refrains, harmonising sweetly with the sight of the
unseeing. And still the candles flicker like banners
proudly proclaiming their fealty to their lord, their world, their
god. Forever forsaking humanity, reality, society, moths
scramble to their flames, professing an undying servitude
to an unseen master, the blind charge to the belief
that all that their god provides is righteous, blind to the
machinations of the eternal fires of the beast they worship.
refrains, harmonising sweetly with the sight of the
unseeing. And still the candles flicker like banners
proudly proclaiming their fealty to their lord, their world, their
god. Forever forsaking humanity, reality, society, moths
scramble to their flames, professing an undying servitude
to an unseen master, the blind charge to the belief
that all that their god provides is righteous, blind to the
machinations of the eternal fires of the beast they worship.
Every
day, new candles are lit in reverence, old candles
extinguished, new paths taken and old roads abandoned.
Each waking moment in the timeless rotation of the world,
another soul feasts upon the flames of their god of illusion. The
master of their deception, the creator of their thoughts, their
reality. The never-ending battle of the god’s playing chess with
the minds of the masses continues, and as another soul is sacrificed
on the altar to success, another flame rises to proclaim their god in
all it’s unworthy holiness. Another banner raised to a false
god of hope, another fool worshipping in the paradise of Illusion.
extinguished, new paths taken and old roads abandoned.
Each waking moment in the timeless rotation of the world,
another soul feasts upon the flames of their god of illusion. The
master of their deception, the creator of their thoughts, their
reality. The never-ending battle of the god’s playing chess with
the minds of the masses continues, and as another soul is sacrificed
on the altar to success, another flame rises to proclaim their god in
all it’s unworthy holiness. Another banner raised to a false
god of hope, another fool worshipping in the paradise of Illusion.
©
Fergus Martin
2013
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