Why is it that our rising up sometimes costs us a forfeiture of our soul?
And fight for control
Leads into a dark rebellion.
Sealed into oblivion
We turn from one bondage, yet
Turn toward dark arts and practices–
But, we’re in control right?
White, perfect, immutable–
Why are You mute to us?
Why are You deaf to us?
Why is the dark so prevalent
And so easily accessed?
My people, don’t forfeit your soul
At the rapacious hands of your own dark intellect….
Your own dark, self-reliant, puffed up, soul-forfeiting intellect.
While your intent weighs heavily on the side of good, what has been produced weighs heavily on the side of tyranny. The entrapment of what you think you know has rendered you lifeless–unconscious of your very purpose. Your intellect has led you so far, but even the seemingly boundless seams of intellect answer to some boundary, to some limitation, to some deficiency, to some fulfillment. As the clock ticks forward, your destruction is fast approaching. Your dark intellect has embodied Pride–given her life and given her reign. Your dark intellect is the crown atop her head, and you are her footstool. Oh how she will crush you under foot when she stands to take your place.
© 2013, The Scribe’s Heart Publishing