residing in all of us is a false prophet
whispering words that bleed the heart of torment
leaching the mind of rationality and grit
tainting the soul with an ashen sky that is
hovering over a lagoon where the most beautiful of souls have gone astray;
leaving what was once iridescent bleak and grey.
becoming a false prophet – alas! the mind is;
following it is the gullible heart's murmurings
taking the soul to a continent far away,
seeking isolation in the crowd of new endings.

rejoicing, the false prophet is.