Internal world
Posted by J80
26th Aug 2011

Pastor Phelps

I know the hardness of the internal scabs that scratch each time you allow yourself to think.

The grating flakes that fall away and drip with blood as eyes move from side to side annihilating opinion.

The world isn’t black and white like you and I.

This constructed prison was a defence created long ago, to actions and manipulations impossible to understand.

To peel away a layer is like tearing flesh and gnashing teeth, the pain of realisation to be fought bitterly.

The air and light will sear like bleach the tender spot beneath the scabby exterior, that turns out to be just another layer with its own small dots of trapped puss.

Can I bear the cost of carrying on, what if this never ends and there is no light within?

Are our wounds even similar under the obfuscation of denial?

Intricate structures built long before awareness could be offered as a gift.

Is it too late do you think to let convictions go?

They act like iron walls to the body of a foetus without a womb splayed open to the world.

Where is its mother and do you think we should offer ourselves up without such protection again?

It isn’t just the world that hates but God, so when ceases the need for shields and placards of defence?

Why should I believe in love? It holds no power and I do not recognise it anymore.

The only thing left is to call for help but out to that which punishes and condemns.

Perhaps we are quite different after all, Pastor.

I have one last place to turn; while your inverted rage still puts a seal on the divine.

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