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The Traveler

His spirit sinks low
as his weary feet drag him through the netherworld.
His ears bleed, his eyes burn, and yet the journey continues.

His head is heavy and weary,
As he breathes in terror for the first time,
tasting pain, listening for courage he cannot find.

His thoughts drift towards the once-existent light,
echoing through his soul,
like the red moon's reflection on a black ocean of fear.

As his knees drag him further
through the empty space that was his mind,
his eyes darken with the realization of defeat.

Above him the clouds break,
and the sky rains anguish and blood.
The ground reeks with the absence of life.

The trees sway with the sorrow of nothingness.
The mountains rumble with sinister laughter.
He walks in the blackness of a dark sunlight.

His ankles collapse, his head nods, his heart bursts.
He sprawls upon the ground,
and spills his anxiety onto the soil of false triumph.

As he lies on his deathbed,
his head swims, his stomach lurches, the flame in his eyes is doused.
He lies in his place, forsaken by All that Can Be.

And suddenly, as if he has been granted a miracle,
his wounds heal with the spirit of determination.
His veins surge with the blood of new life.

The candles in his eyes flicker,
and his flesh burns with liquid fire.
He cries to the King of All, arms outstretched, soul jumping from its lonely prison.

And for one split second, the sun lifts its shroud.
The ground sprouts flowers, and the spirit of living is born for the second time.
The mountains rise, the oceans flow, the trees grow new leaves of hope.

Strength and determination look the traveler in the face once again.
His face smiles, his aches and pains are no more.
He is alive.

Again, he calls.
Lo, there is no sound, save the beating in his chest.
He calls once more, only to discover that his voice has cried out in vain.

The traveler calls out for the last time; the vision was false.
His spirit plunges into the abyss of agony
that was forgotten in the Moment of Light.

And once again, he falls into the endless pit of deceit and horror.
The trees fall, the flowers wilt, the sun dons its mask once again.
The liquid fire is gone.

He spills his blood upon his own maimed flesh,
which won't take it in.
He is as nothing.

And yet his mind lives on in this netherworld,
heart pumping fear, eyes weeping self-pity, longing for precious, precious light,
blinded by the darkness.


 

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