Waxing Slaves

Thoughts melted from held a moment before,
a river of lava winding its heated path.
Life unthought and unthinking lived alone,
torch in hand with a flame bearing bright.
Anger yelled from mountain as if truth known,
seeds of the words devoid of meaning take root.
Listen and pay for the prize is salvation,
a station held in the cloudless skies above.
While the storms over the horizon rage on,
the voices of angels yet to speak are heard.
Glowing embers as eyes in socket burn bright,
and the lost gather believing they are found.
Collected and corralled into a tight force,
to march as one on the orders of the drum.
Pulling hard for the journey they chose,
slaves in galleys smelling the salt of sea.
Following the light of the tunnel ahead,
the source the flame of their wick burning low.
To be shown the world that they desire arrive,
destroys the illusion for which they fight.
Falling to earth with fingers worn bare,
The purpose extracted until nothing remains.

Taraz
[ a Steem original ]

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