Reign Down
And the ultimate judge who sits upon the ultimate throne will know. Yes, he will know what you have done and what you have thought and what you have felt and dreamed and heard and hoped for and never won. Will never win. Meanwhile, cloned marionettes with black wigs dance in circles in our minds as our tongues spin tales of tiresome tattle. Our puerile hearts beat, unashamed, against the walls of responsibility and whine for wine and bread. The bread that is not the bread of life but the bread of lie and falsehood and truth-you-have-died-and-reign-no-longer. And shall it rain tomorrow or the day after or the day after that? And will it matter? If all the world were to drown in a moment, life would continue in its ceaseless struggle to survive against stupidity with sanity and sobriety. Perhaps we will never wake sober or sleep soberly or think sober thoughts ever again, for there upon the granite lies the bread of lie and falsehood and truth-I-mock-your-nonexistence and it is raining wine to drown the world in a moment.--
A harsh grating of heavy stone against stone. A screeching. And a halting. Screech. Halt. Screech. And constant, endless ringing. In bed late at night and they are not the shouts of a taxicab driver or a raccoon overturning garbage but ringing. Always ringing. For the next 20 years. Until deafness brings silence. And relief. Or deafness as a result of ringing. Which would be hell. With bells. Suffer the 11th row of your mistake exactly one year ago for the rest of your pitiful life.
