Manifest Hate |
| by Nathan Olney |
Quarterly, thy heart doth ache.
I hear thee, my son.
Thy anguished cries piercingly remind me of that which has never been.
Nor could it ever be, at least, not conceivably in my human mind.
Admittedly weak and enfeebled, such is the way of infamy.
I pray for thy peace.
Unanswered as it has always been, and always shall be, if mine eyes deceive.
Of course, ‘tis true.
The blackness of my soul forever expands, obscuring the path lain before me.
Thus, only devils’ words I will hear.
Their hellish voices instill fear.
‘Twas said, . . . blind leading the blind.
Now it seems the blind can see.
All too clearly, however untrue their eyes may be.
With sure feet, they tread on golden streets, a trail of lead left in their wake.
Heavenly dust loses luster, and is swept away by winds more fearsome
than Satan himself.
Thus, the truth is known, but much too late.
Silent looming manifest hate.
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