Anguish

………Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius.ici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius.…………

 anguish2

The light in the center of the clearing

in the center of the forest

in the middle of the night

lit up everything around her.

 

It was so bright a light that

it burned little stars

behind her eyes and made her

stumble forward,

mindless to the brambles tearing

her dress away and

tearing at her skin, allowing the

blood to flow in soft red rivers.

 

She paid no mind to the slick redness

of new rips in old scars down her legs

and across her arms as she pushed

through the unforgiving foliage.

She paid no mind to the soft skin

of her neck and face, torn and torn again.

Some time ago, the tattered white shift

had long since shifted into twice-soaked red.

 

The clearing was just a few steps away

and the brightness was unbearable.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as she

broke free of the forest and fell forward into the light.

Her eyes could not adjust to the blinding

radiance of the being that stood before her.

She did not mind because she had reached

this place and the anguish could end.

 

She was sure he was the brilliance of

every diamond that had ever been cut.

He towered over the trees and looked

down at the bloody mess on the ground before him.

She was sure he was a kind of angel,

crafted of the oldest light, pooled together into this form.

His arms were crossed and he looked

down at the bloody mess on the ground before him.

 

She spoke with her lips close to the ground,

 a soft plea for release from the anguish and

with deafening clarity she heard the sound

emerge from the throat of the angel made of light;

laughter so harsh that her cowering form

cringed into the dirt and her trembling mixed

the blood on her skin with the dust of the

earth and caked her arms and legs.

 

A new anguish imprinted inside the

cracked recesses of her mind, the realization that

every light is not good, and every angelic form

does not fight for the side of right.

This new anguish distracted her from her weakened state

as she lay, blood still flowing freely.

Her own light was extinguished with the

final thought of how especially bright it must be in Hell.

beingOfLIGHT

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