Threads bare on the woolen blanket.
Itchy fibers weaved together
complete the tapestry.
On soft strings lays a mighty castle.
Two tall towers loom over a booming base.
Bricks of red, brown timber, complete its' massive barricades.
A pull strains the fabrics.
Slowly it rips.
These mighty walls,
that withstood sieges
and fires,
collapse.
A hair alone has little use.
Together, each makes the yarn stronger.
A work of beauty and utility crafted from nothing.
But, like all things that come together,
everything falls apart.
A kingdom comes to an end.

Pleasantly, the minister finishes his sermon.
"...and so go forth my flock, and do good.
The good in your heart. In the name of..."
An urge comes over him.
Something from his old life,
but he resists.
"civil service." He finishes.
The words leave an empty feeling in his gut,
but he smiles from his pulpit.
The wooden pews in front of him clatter,
as the occupants vacate.
The huddled masses move under the golden arches
and out into the fresh spring air.
He stands, transfixed on the ever present dust.
The broken glass windows flood the room with sunlight
for the dust to dance airily around.
In his mind, he has gone to that feeling.
Lately, his mind had been coming back to it more and more.
Like a pimple growing under his skin,
as soon as his attention slipped,
his subconscious would float back over to pick at it.*
A younger version of him stood in front of a mirror.
The new white robe brightened the whole room.
It was his first. He was ready to lead.
This was what he was meant to do.
This was good.
This was before The Secularity.
*Attached were memories.
He was cowering in a corner naked.
"Drink this." A cup was placed to his lips.
He was too scared to run.
There was no choice to refuse.
He knew what happened next.
It would be bad.
*Each spoke to him.
In his arms, he supported a figure with long brown hair.
A girl. A soon to be mother
with a child out of wedlock.
He rubbed her back.
"It will be ok." he soothed.
*An argument of images...
"My kids!" A tiny woman cried at him, "They're starving!"
He had seen her before.
The short cut, blonde hair.
A fancy dress on her pudgy body.
Rings on her stumpy fingers.
Outside a bar in the early morning.
*Muddled.
"Enough!"
He spoke to the ghosts that inhabited his mind.
He found no rest there. No answers.
He retreated to his study.

 

Like a focus through a lens,
I see the stars' different light.
They can twinkle like bells,
and illuminate the night.
A laugh leaves my lips,
when I know it's all, alright.
But, when a lamb escapes,
as they are wont to do,
I fear for the rose
of a friend I once knew.
The difference in lenses
force a different perspective.
A cage or a park?
The world is reflective
of our thoughts in the dark.