Footstool Of The Devine-

Hear the cries of the persecuted
Screams of terror
Eyes blinded with dread
Ailing sighs as defeat is realized
Collapse in heaps of tears and exhaustion
Too fading to fear

Wounded by phobias
It will all be better in the morning
But morning never comes
Just cold and winter
No summer to speak of

Grunting and straining
Just to measure up
On your toes
Just to thud against the glass ceiling
Remember the scars
As the aches they still are

Slide into recession
Suddenly lost
In the wild vines of depression
So swift encroaching
Consuming the life
To another terrible dimension

Lapping the blood
Gushing and peeling
Keeping your dignity in a jar
For self preservation
Your arms far in front of you
Protection from the humiliation
You can’t run from

Bitter pieces of smiles
Sad ashes of pictures
Whispering memories in your heart
Falling down
Cascade to a pool in which to drown
Sorrow

Always the noise
The high whining sound
Feeling the haze
As light bleeds you dry
Words beating against your teeth
Screaming to get out
But all you can do is cry
Feeling so pitiful

Whispers
Demented and vile
The soft things
Are always the most painful
Terror is silent
And all the more awful