(Satan Smiting Job with Sore Boils, William Blake, c1826)
The Matrix
Fierce is the storm that rises from the abyss
All must yield in its path
The weak curl; the timid falter
Only conviction of mind, strength of will, does one push through
Damaged and drained, savagery sneers
Darkening the brilliance of Source
The depths of Hell keep coming
There is no reprieve, only openings for despair–
Moments of bliss are only deceptions of reality
Belief in the Almighty spares your spirit
But Evil’s wrath ravages your soul
A feather is no weapon against a sword
And yet, we still breathe in the rapture of existence
Writerdeeva 
Well done. I enjoyed the dynamic tension that plays out between good and evil as well as light and dark. It’s interesting that even a glimpse of the supernatural saves the spirit. I wonder if we could awake to the light would the feather a sword?
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Well done. I enjoyed the dynamic tension that plays out between good and evil as well as light and dark. It’s interesting that even a glimpse of the supernatural saves the spirit. I wonder if we could awake to the light would the feather be a sword?
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How fascinating. I had never thought about, ” I wonder if we could awake to the light would the feather be a sword?” Food for thought. Thank you.
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