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Post by AquarianM on Oct 2, 2007 1:25:15 GMT -5
The Guardian...
There are…things, Things that will cross the night if you let them, Coal black things, Darker than night, Darker than anything, Nothing of them shines.
They will suck the life from you, Everything that makes you worth anything, Anything that could feed joy in the world around you, Everything worth living for, They feed on them like morsels of rotting flesh, Torn from the shrieking bones of what you were.
There are…things, Evil things that feel nothing but hunger, Waiting in the world just below this, Born out of shadows and nothingness, They’ll leave nothingness behind, A shell and a mockery and absolute misery, Wrack and ruin on the utmost scale.
The Guardian is all that stands betwixt them and us, The last bastion of light, The only hope, And His names are Faith, Love, and Compassion.
In every word we speak to ourselves, We must invoke Him, And those…things – they’ll scatter and skitter, Back into the nothingness.
Don’t hear their chittering whispers, Don’t give them anything upon which to feed, Invoke His names and burn them, Like puffs of smoke into the nothingness they are, Not even on the Ragged nights, When October dies and the nights fall cold and dark and long.
Everything is in the words we tell our own stories to ourselves with, From the coldest winter night to the brightest summer morning, These…things feed on all the wrong words, you see.
Or don’t.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford © 10/02/2007
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Post by Elle Rush on Oct 8, 2007 19:52:52 GMT -5
Yes, they do... and to give them credence only fuels their hunger. I like the words you used here to banish them.
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Post by AquarianM on Oct 11, 2007 2:56:50 GMT -5
Thank you, 'Elle.
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