“Have there be no end to our suffering?”
I, Conqueror of many lands, asked.
For though, even in my doubt, I held something worse.
Wrath.
In my mission, my search for purpose, I had learned many a tale of demons.
Demons so vicious they stole your soul,
Devouring every bit of essence you held.
From my forefathers to my descendants,
We made it our purpose to vanquish demons.
“Train!”
My father told me, as his father told him.
“Train as those have before you. Learn thy enemy.”
And so, I did.
Every story, lesson, and artifact of my enemy was no foreign object to my eyes and ears.
I, often, fell upon the foot of the Lord,
And asked him,
“From the very Dawn,
To the Dusk,
I have been your servant.
I have stayed by your side.
Today, in gratitude and happiness, I ask you: Give me your word.
I hope to hear you.”
And often, not a word was spared.
No.
Instead,
A feeling took the place of the answers I sought.
Grateful as I was, and still am,
My ears sought more.
I feared asking further would lead to my dismay and demise.
So in place of my fear, anger bloomed.
Anger with no purpose other than feasting on my flesh.
Feeding itself with my weakness.
I saw it in the face once
In my doubt
In my hunger for more
I saw it scream.
Oh child,
It said.
Child, child!
Why do we beg?
To a voice, not even so, but an idea?
I turned away from such ideas it gave me.
And burned it to a world where it shall not feed on me, but itself.
Sometimes,
In the depths of my doubt,
Do I still hear it scream.