May the soul be saved from this war, a prison of distortion;
A wall or a wave of fury consuming, Insisting on the mind’s contortion.
What one ought cherish and protect, Gritty hands, unclean as the paltering heart between,
Outstretched like striking vipers, fangs baring, seek to infect.
Fearful points of venom, misdirected,
Taking the light of Earth and time.
Where from and why, who, how and what?
Poised there, false idol, deceptive disciple,
Wallowing in filth with glee,
Looking for arrangement, clandestinely.
Tongue clashing violently,
Signalling the abyssal chasm charading as sturdy bearing;
Begging one to fall upon,
To give way to something ensnaring.
Sidestep the trapdoor of this flight inverted,
Name its presence and point to its place,
See where it ends, and one reclaims one’s freedom and true face.