C (part 2)

Descending half-lit stairs

as day grinds to a start,

imagination’s fever

fabricates a rancid monster

lurking in the shadows,

whispering the questions,

gnawing at the bone.

The cancer of uncertainty;

the palsy of not knowing.

The drip (“Why me?”)

drip (“What now?”)

drip (“Who to tell?”)

drip (“And how?”)

wears me down

wears me down

wears me down

wears me down

And as the beastly tentacles

strangle me with lies,

an image of an angel

brings the gift of honesty

to help dispel the shadows.

And though the truth cuts razor-sharp,

the truth has set me free;

slashing through denial,

bandages that mummify,

shackles of uncertainty,

manacles of fear.

And though the truth remains the same -

carved into the chemistry

of flesh and blood,

bone and sinew -

the burden seems less heavy

for standing tall to bear it.

I lift aloft the moment;

this tapestry of memories,

embroidered through with thankfulness,

for those who will remember.

I don’t believe in ghouls and ghosts

and things that go bump in the night

but I do believe in angels;

messengers of honesty

filtered through compassion.

For, when you think the lights are out,

Angels help you see.

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