Temple

ensnared even without knowing, a spell that is alive, the adapts turns permanent when the weary sleep for fatigue has set in, as calculated, when eyelids begin to close, the same sign over and over, dulls

stuff the puppet with flesh, heat the wax till it begins to glow and drip down this narrow drain flowing from north to west, continues it's way down into the core of the earth where it solidifies,

it deafens, it screams, it intrudes it shouts, it tears down, it bellows till the meaning of a quest is long forgotten. and the spirit is broken, in disarray disheveled forlorn tamas permeates into skin

walk with a dead god, a dead saint for it certainty causes one to shine even when the living are damned each day from heavy thuds of resignation and another bedtime story comes along, because fiction and non fiction aren't all that

if i were to chase the wind and felt the wind, tasted the rush of air bringing me high if i had the light of the sun upon my face, each flap of the tongue brought me closer to the

a temple like water, surface is clean without ripples and the travelers who wander here can come to terms with unwavering stillness, like a rock, sturdy, faithful though it bends like a tree, arms fluttering about with wings beating, soaring to ideals, where heart meets mind, mind action because the layers are peeled back

Do more, give more, and they did and it seems that there is no error in this, to build a greater temple, to make it more glorious, more sacrifice, it really isn't too different from any other organization, more, and here glory is the reward.

Quiet, so very quiet it is. Don't speak a word because no one answers and my throat is raspy from crying out too much, in the wrong direction. There is no one here, no omnipotent presence, no soothing angels, just the religious fanatics quite self serving. The congregation pays for an after life amusing and the speaker just another salesman. It is quite evident that the fire falls on all. There is no evidence of a higher power.

Mystic forces blind the faithful who have lost their way, eager to embrace any doctrine that comes along, they are like swimmers who cannot swim, drowning almost and my hand is poison and they will never see it coming, for it is a raft, even if it is a burning one. Why bother? We all burn or freeze in the end.

I am hidden, I am in plain sight and I cannot be found by the hardened, the non believers will burn my temples and yet I cannot be exterminated. For I am outside time and space, the mountains are ruined by the waves and each mocker that mocks me will fade out and I will not be lesser from believers or non believers. I can point the way and only those who truly seek me out will find me. I will not be placed second for I know my worth.