Walking the Wrath of Man

Walking the Wrath of Man

There is a secret the lonely know.

A quality of thought to bestow.

There is a hard road with stinging floors.

A road for the lonely, beaten, unique, and damned.

What a road that possesses no light, no warmth, only dark doors.

A hard road that by the wrath of man, it’s walkers harmed.

The walkers hear only the echo of their footsteps.

Heed the sense of their rhythmic heartbeat’s directing their concepts.

Mesmerize in their breath’s shallow dispersion.

And swoon in the summoning of their logical thoughts.

Walking through man’s pessimistic dispensation.

Through this vain road, walking all for naught.

Walking alone under thunderclouds of opposition.

Walking alone with thunderstruck views of a swarming decision.

Walking alone under raindrops of grief.

Walking alone with an individual belief.

Walking alone with only their natural aptitude.

Walking alone for so long, deep into solitude.

Look, can you see them walk, carrying the weight, dead in the eyes?

Hear their echoing footsteps plummeting to their demise.

Taste their exasperated breaths of loneliness.

Smell the acrid humidity, the stench in the nostrils, derived from the dark road.

Feel their staggering notions, their isolation, their weariness.

Imagine their desolated anguish, their open loathe.

Though alone, the walkers know of one thing that can be done.

Something of old practiced, something that illuminates the road like a fiery sun.

Collapsing to their knees the walkers yell;

“Let me in, I will think the way you want me to think

and live the way you want me to live in this earthly hell!”

For the walkers know the doors well with all their predictable sync.

Doors with crosses and hostage losses.

Doors with audible preaching Hymns and inaudible screams.

Doors with their own simplicity and reality.

Doors of steel with their glimmering seal.

Doors far from the truth yet so very close.

All so potent and as delicate as an earth bound rose.

Rising, the walkers experience the opening of doors, ready for them to receive.

Contemplating in awe of sequence, opening their tempting respite, a yearned reprieve.

What then through a door?

The genesis of a new belief, perhaps forever.

Walkers ready to rest and ponder on what’s in store.

Some ready to accept whatsoever, wherever, whomever.

Then enjoy the riches, the bliss, and roll in the deeply longed joy.

Never looking back to the loneliness that the wrath of man would deploy.

Full of laughter, full of warmth, full of happiness.

A moment until Death, it’s cold iron grip on their throat hastens.

Thus comes a familiar moment of darkness, loneliness, and emptiness.

Then a lucid daydream that clasps their mind’s very sensations.

Back to the Hard Road of anguished desolation.

Back to the Hard Road of unmanned perfection.

Back to the knees of plead and the beginning of the end.

Back to a loneliness the Wrath of Man sculpted the Walkers to see and believe.

How far can the wrath of man go and  it’s omnipotent judgement send?

How deep does the wretched knife penetrate the wound and the heart deceive?

A new notion in their generation to the next and the next.

To their precept, a new perplexed creed, so complex.

Walkers. Open mindedness now, is merely an illusion.

The dancing of the mind betrayed on what it once protected.

Open mind, seeking, bleeding heart, summoning a final conclusion.

Open mind full of what was once aggressively neglected.

In the beginning said HE; “I will create man in my own image.”

And in the end said man; “We are made in his perfect image; thus we hold perfect pillage,

perfect malice, perfect avarice, perfect morality, and perfect imperfection”

Now look Walkers, of all the doors, which of them is caught to hurt or beguile?

Which door out of all the multitudes, holds the right direction?

If none, then what is the harm in remaining with the road for a little while?