In glory, I want to thrive;
But beneath tempered victory my passion hides.
Oh, tear the veil;
Edit the world’s end;
Until everyone feels the spirit of iniquity.
Strife lives inside my skin;
Somewhere beyond the oracle’s sight.
I want to scratch until I free it;
Be released from the ill-fitting suit.
The punishment was to be a sentry;
Forever standing guard.
The swirling darkness sways;
Threatening, tempting, wheedling.
I fear the possibility;
I always have.
If the angels falter in their vigil…
If I’m all alone…
How long will we last?
James W. Lackie 