Twilight's approach is as frightening as the cold night.
We grow lean in faith as bold as we seem,
We beam though yet our hearts beat amiss,
As the night crawls nearer,so does our fear.
Will you make a vessel of me and send me ?
Fill me up and take me across?
Like the pleasure in a gourd?
Like a shield and a sword?
Like for those with sight,the right to see?
And for those in hunger,the taste that'll search no more?
Make me your feral stupefier?
In the midst of guilt-filth and distress,
Among the wilt,sick and obstinate madmen,
Where war queep-hay filamentlessly,
Where scientific idiosyncrasies voraciously desolder,
Where roaring blindness refuse to clam up,
Send up your word,
Let me beam with such infenal healing,
That their rusted-out soul...unecclesiastical minds...and frosted priorities should burn-recoiled and receive enlightenment.
I crave for myself not their wares
Neither their bread nor their wealth,
For who enjoys bread when there's no peace?
Or what enjoin all hell if not unease?
Make the young grow,
Make the dead who have no hope,glow.
For if all these are unknown,
If these wealth are yet unbestowed,
What then is food?
What then is Gold?
YOU ARE READING
THE MESSANGER
Mystery / Thrillerblazing light, In the middle of filth and distress, Among the sick and mad men, Where war and foolishness, There,where blindness devour, That I might beam with such fiery healing, That their souls might burn
