With each passing I am reminded of a fear that haunts me, one that no matter how deeply repressed I attempt to maintain it draws ever closer to the surface of my unwatchful stay.

Gently I try to console myself within the ravages of man’s realities, after all who can indeed live forever in such a husk as this; sullenly I indulge myself far too long.

My reaching attains little to grasp yet still I hold on.

A simple fear can drive a man mad within his own self-made prison, perhaps the madness would allow a sweet release…Ophelia we may yet clasp hands…

The fear of death lays not at the feet of darkness, yet asks me to prove myself within the light.

How much worth can be valued in nothing?

Three decades of standing in front of a mirror, watching prophet become perverted by profit.

Destiny runs through my bloodless veins.

Slice upon my ashen frame; disguise my shame as victory…

If nothing else, may my bones be whittled into some useful form after my useless reign over them has come to an end.



-J.G. Smith (09/05/06)