The foundation starts to crumble,
building like a muscle spasm
seemingly suddenly
but the chasm’s not shallow.
A throbbing pulsation,
intensity multiplying
through a fragile vein
where the weak start to stumble.
There are cracks in the sidewalk,
disjointed like tendon
shouting through the pain
of childhood stained in chalk.
And the moment’s not passing.
The golem’s gnawing,
crushing bone into sand
into dust into hand.
The grinding screeching metal
causing the spark to ignite
the forgotten weeded mind
which fights but won’t settle.
Then the clenched power courses,
telling lies in righteousness
crying, “this won’t end!”
unless you stop it.
But the repletion of madness
tears the blood from the knife.
The throat is open.
The mountain’s *****
punching holes into families.
The swinging freedom of
unconscious motion
finds a target in innocence
if exists such a myth.
Sweltering demented meltdown
eroding this tail wagging acceptance,
ripping at the skin of freewill,
proving a point.
That monster has no soul.
that demon stares backward,
smiling from the pages
of mankind’s fiction.
“Burn!” he hollers.
Suffer and burn.
You are my children
in the lake of fire.
Only when it dries,
staining the lips of emotion
can those eyes see once more-
there is a person buried beneath.
A man in the devil’s jacket.
A man.
