Hell's Frost

 

Adept 

  In the realm of spiritual menagerie

I'd allow distance in the times of dissonance. 

Words in all their power, 

   and with all their might, 

Held close to the heart at hand, kept silenced. 

Uttering them might have had no real relevance, 

   For I had gone void temporarily anyhow. 

Hell, 

  Comes to us of numerous forms, 

    Environments of frost, and love sold; 

  Ego's proclaimations of control 

Duties and ties, like bondage and chains to a sinking ship. 

Coping mechanisms against a loosening grip; 

  There to fill what feels hollow

     Sheathing only depths we have not the courage to go. 

Perhaps it is because, 

  Too much I have come to know, 

  Which would continually fall unmitigated 

    Against the rations of responsibilities 

       I never personally signed my name to. 

Hell is a frost, so cold, 

  A narcissism so bold 

  Love would go unrendered, 

    and never seen in it's true form here. 

    and my kind would be plighted by the slow suffocation of discriminating grips 

   Eager to judge, beseech, 

     But never hold. 

I know, the lot of us all, 

  Had not been prized of lives 

    Worth living, 

Finding out against the harsh disdain 

  Of emotions unheard & compressed into disease

     parents selling their children off, 

To bad decisions, un-encompassed by any true north, 

Notable to God. 

Hadn't we all, failed eachother so drastically?

And would it ever cease, 

The Hell we've been bonded to? 

It was but one thing I wanted. 

  Never known, 

     But by the light of my own soul mirroring a wholeness, 

   That came only in pieces by way of others. 

Hell is the plunge 

  From which we never recover. 

A fall through the ice, 

  And a rescue with no fire. 

A hyperthermia of biting and creeping death

  Battered only further by Winter's heartless antipathy 

Against all that try to survive it. 

Hell

  Is a Cold Mother, 

     Dismissive and concerned only 

       of her own nature.