Ignorance
is a sharp stark
spear to my
blood gorged heart,
the mess where I store
all the artifacts
I abhor and adore.

It is a corner covered in
all the tools used
for bludgeoning
all of my resistance
to a pulpy gore.

A set of stupid statues
sitting in a row
not seeing, hearing,
or speaking what we know.

The bane of my breath,
more horrid than death,
as I dull then destroy
that aspect which annoys
me greatly.

As I read and study,
veils remove themselves,
waters recede and I see
the once drowning
clown version of me
empowered to be
a lot godlier.