Torn in the breast
over twofold decision
regarding ***,
regarding light,
regarding the salvation of the soul
dismissed any hopeful vision of the holy spirits of the mind
cast down to the deep den of the forgotten, rotting mental tomb of vice
spaced out beyond any homely recognition
no patterns are to be known
no faces are to look upon the one who fades in stark daylight
where once a garden grew bearing ripe the fruits of virtue
now stands in torn remembrance to the sinking of the pale indigo sky
where once there was a hopeful, familiar world
now stands an aching gravestone of paranoia and delusion
carved out of deep obsidian
and jutting from the chasms of a past life
aching for the heavenly bliss of an unmanifest soul
yet spinning with the force to throw one from his own gravity
cast into outer space alone
content in his own silence