The Inner Voice of Calamity

Standing, yet falling,
And never once looking forward,
Only several degrees behind.

Have thy hands burned and thy feet frozen,
Punishment.
To those who… believe.
Belief,
A word not once spoken by my cold,
Dry,
Lips.
Such a word is for the foolish who
no matter how thickle,
See light in the abyss.

But no light shine from my bleeding sun,
No light shines from my thick, beating, heart.
Night and day,
Remain the same,
Raise thy hand
strike it down.
The wrath of the rich
and the envy of the pauper,
Struck down and destroyed.
From one.
Single.
Word.

Belief,
A word never once said from my cold,
Dry,
Lips.
Sacrifice ambition.
For realisation.
When the crisis of salvation stops,
And the dreams of denial are revealed,
Boiling rain pounds upon your broken back.
Again you realise.
You are no leader.
You’re a ghost in the wind.
A whisper.
Nothing!
Alone.
And always left behind to the pity
of those above you.
You are the prey
And belief, is your predator.