twisted wisdom spoken through
the cracked lips of a crippled fool;
fully limbed, with Hope staggered on a
crutch.
but for what reason does he still believe?
his bleeding hands
tremble
from the searing pull of a woven rope
that drag him to submission.
garbled nonsense spewing from
the tainted whites of his eyes.
these children shudder,
unknowingly feeling his unfair forfeit
of life for their ignorance.
he speaks
as though he has been here before.

the peeling walls erupt
with the stench of unpaid sacrifice
that seep into the pores and spill
into every unwilling touch,
every withheld exchange of words and warmth,
each individual sideways glance
laced with admiration and love seeds
that blow away with the wind
from the cracks in the door
chained shut.
strength thrives in the familiarity
of unheard sobs of confusion
and searches for dampened corners where questions
cease to exist:
so limited by the matter that makes up the walls.

a quest. never ending.
overwhelmed
by the superiority of knowledge
only meant for the gods, for the divine angels
for the demons that bathe in the magma of
hell.
the edges too sharp to treat
the melted metal of the human mind.
search through the sourceless fog.
look up to see his rusted heart
crudely hanging from an ancient frame.
unreachable, smashed,
smeared,
and broken.
slightly too large far the glass.
still pulsates with a fury that echoes.
without it he cannot leave his seventh
circle.
and yet, he still Believes.
sustained by a prophecy
that he must teach
the world to dream in color.
the Power behind his whispers resound.