by Jeffrey T. Bender
Set out upon a path.
A journey, to overcome wrath.
With funds, and guns, and musical math.
'Til the springtime, or hell and high water comes,
Or a stigmata of sorts casts us beyond the stars.
Wherein and where-out lies our loves and dreams,
And hopes for motion beyond a small blue speck,
Takes hold of our greatest memories.
A different feeling from that of yesteryear,
In which we feared, but persevered,
To write inside the confines of two blue lines.
Yet, escape the mind and propel the energy,
And the vibrant imagery,
Far past the scope of a human's mental rope.
Until is embraced, the traces of the unexplored.
That which isn't real,
Is always real,
If you feel it necessary to make it so.
With a pen-stroke, to let it go,
And causes a rippling sensation to radiate throughout the troposphere,
Making every particle dance and come alive.
It swims across a metallic surface,
And touches down somewhere inside,
Where it lodges itself,
Awaiting a writing,
To send them buzzing out again.
Among mercenary armies,
Chewing up the ground and resources in an effort to find a person they will never catch.
Lo, they will burn with want of it,
To overcome wrath.
They will find themselves succumbing to it,
Feeding upon it,
Until all is laid waste in their eyes.
And then they will learn to burn the skies.
But not even that, the boiling away of the very air that sustains them,
Will be enough to slow their pursuit of wrath in all his forms.
They will chase him through the hole in the sky.
No longer will they remember why,
Just that that which angers them must die.
Through the void they glide,
Proclaiming their God has died,
And that wrath is alive.
They will proclaim their purpose as to forever thrive with peace,
But to overcome wrath first, as a personal drive.
In overcoming wrath,
They could set upon a path,
Of peace everlasting.
Yet never once questioning whether it was actually possible to overthrow wrath.
Or whether their dominating of the stars in pursuit of him, was actually serving him.
Everyone they came across refused to help them find him,
And, thus, suffered righteously for their lack of cooperation.
Planets and star systems fell victim to their inquisition as it raged across the galaxy.
Always seeking the last known hiding place of wrath.
Until they came upon a planet, golden and sickly.
It tugged at their memories, but none of them could see.
This planet before them was left long ago.
To die, with an enflamed sky,
In pursuit of a person, or a thing,
That dwelt behind their eyes.
Last updated September 08, 2011