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June 13th, 2019

Updated: Nov 21, 2019

You self, your soul, your ancient muse to a new world order;

In faith and conviction the mighty will rise,

Against history's demons acting as a plague of black

Following the bestiality of illness and pain

The reckoning of the weak pulled from the river

Cascading to a tired and beleaguered soul,

When one surrenders to the darkened bottom

Living in each for us to battle, a forlorn story,

Only surrendering will come, only one choice to decide

Let the plagues of deceit and self hate absorb your soul or;

Just open your eyes and the river will be no more,

The bottom abyss nothing but haunting folk lore,

A recanting of nothing more than a myth;

Satan, he has never existed, just deliverance

Of a sainthood story, fallen with grief of wings,

An angel's demise, who through him, we know,

Two stories to be told, one of our savior,

One as a metaphor threatening our salvation

But both a narrative giving us a choice

Between the river of pain and a turn of the cheek

Each of us to decide a history of evil or a new world of light






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© 2019 by R. Cary