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W.I.P Poem (Of sorts)
W.I.P Poem (Of sorts)
                                                                                              The Lie.

I find myself on the side of a seemingly endless mountain. I near the start of its most imposing crag marred with jagged rock along the way. The sun breaks out of thick overcast skies but seemingly only for the most brief of moments. The ground is rich with deep new-fallen snow that impedes my every step.

The wind carries a bitter biting wind through my bones, Sometimes as a gentle gust sometimes, like a tempest. 

I have traveled for quite some while. On occasion, I catch myself looking back at the perilous trail I have surpassed. I gloat undeservedly, yet, I see ever more obstacles and challenges ahead, waiting, almost mocking. I fear I will be unable to overcome them and make it to the summit.

Difficult, Cold, Unmoving, Unchanging. This is the inelegant, unpolished, spiteful truth.

Yet ever-present in my travels, along a much easier path...is the lie.  
An old cottage. Its timbers are worn but sturdy, Its bed is soft,
Its cupboards are full, and its hearth is warm.

It beckons me always. I can hear the crackling of the logs as it whispers to me, "Just one more time." Sometimes I scream "Never" More often, I whisper weakly, "Please, no."

There are those among us who will spend most of their lives there. Embracing the warmth of a lie for years than bare a moment in the frigid,
yet invigorating, inspiring wonder of the real.

"Not me!" I boast. "I can weather the storm," I remark brazenly...

I sigh heavily with remorse and hold my head down. I feel myself once again walking towards the cottage.

It's mostly metaphor but I don't think it's too bad so far.
"For the only way to eternal glory is a life lived in service of our Lord, FSM; Verily it is FSM who is the perfect being the name higher than all names, king of all kings and will bestow upon us all, one day, The great reclaiming"  -The Prophet Boiardi-

      Conservative trigger warning.
[Image: s-l640.jpg]

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