The diverse assortment of enrapturing conviction
Is but cacophony to most other than me,
Discord to the passionate,
Defending concepts they find true
Clamor to the indifferent,
Those value peace and human happiness
Above factual correctness
For years they’ve all, with incessant attempts
Given their utmost to indoctrinate me,
The most easily swayed of all—
But I’ve found in the rupturing of the fervent,
All ideology, ethic, doctrine,
And in the serenity of the agreeably pacific
I’ve found faith, hope—I’m sure that’s my own,
Art is by no means meaningless, I find,
Especially so when inherent by human ability
And ascribed to this lyrical poem I’ve crafted
Consisting of what I, by my means, find true
Diverse conviction is beautiful.

Hell is not
Fire and brimstone
Frozen
Or sheeted in ice
No,
Hell is
The hollow pain
Inside your stomach
From days spent staring at the walls
It is the panic
That sits on your chest
Crushing your sternum
Under the weight of his absence
The ache
In the marrow
Of your spine
As you wake to face
Another Mountain
Another Monster
Another Day
The terror of forgetting
How all his corners and edges
Feel beneath your finger tips
Or how the constellations
Glittered in the cerulean night
Of his eye
Hell is
The fear that
All the threads holding you together
Woven like tapestry
Will fray
And fall apart
The thought
Of your souls untwining
Pulled and picked apart
By time
Distance
And silence