The dark gets darker
As paraffin candles refuse the flame of faith.
The cacophony of deceit is deafening
While Truth’s silence roars.
Closed in, muffled by cotton floss,
Groping blindly yields nothing.
Dry, arid air stinks
With a stench of sulfur and brimstone,
And the aroma of non-saccharin worship
No longer rises.
The sweet words of life
Can’t flow through
Thick, putrid, bitter quicksand quagmire of reality.