Moderation

Moderation.

Standing outside the chapel, a shrewed mind clouded with past hauntings. An atmosphere of gray skies, and ashes wrapping around ankles, being inhaled by steady breaths. It takes a big God to pry the mind and sends reminders of the progression. They say everything in moderation, and yet the only true solution would be a rapid dissolution of all things revolving around the death and destruction left behind. The assassination of a being. the torture of a lost soul, and the resurrection of a new human.The veil drops, black lace covering the broken down face that holds the two soulless irises; a march forward commanded by the bell tolls. A steady tempo allows the manifestation of current events to continue to unfold; constant whiplashes of pain and suffering strike. The lashes reopening old woulds, and yet the refusal to bend remains strong. Immunity to emotions and yet still succumbing to the distress of their ever present presence. The chiming of clocks are a constant burden, with each tick and tock; marking the days off stacking them up and yet not having enough. There is no rapid cure, no quick fix, nor a complete restoration; just a phantom that continues to slide and swirl slipping through the thin slivers within the semi- healed skin. Now standing on top of the hill, looking down the chapel. Choices made, actions committed no turning back; standing tall knowing the final chapter is yet to be written let alone finished.