The Nature of Man

There is another world, another reality. A reality ruled by the omnipresent Darkness. The Vise tightens its iron grip while the mocking Clock ticks and mercilessly sparing no soul of the sad world from the endless pain. With each woeful lament, blood sprouts out of their never-healing scars. In my very own eyes, I see people suffering while retreating into the obsidian land. O, how strong and firm is the hand of the Deep!

A long line stretches from one end to other as far as my eyes can see. People chained with a dull, heavy, grey chain at their ankle and forced to endure the Long March. Their faces, oh how so repulsive! Some distorted, some demonic, while other simply disfigured. Their nodding heads is impregnably veiled with sweat, dust, and tears. Those chains, oh how those hands digs and claws into their raw flesh! A great haze of grey dust under the lightless sky ascends to encompass them. The starless, murky canopy presses down as the silent chains rings in the Deep. O, how strong and firm is the hand of the Deep!

“Run,” I cry in earnest, but they march blindly. “Flee,” I implore, but they crawl like thick molasses down a towering cliff that disappears into the grey fog. Even the stones’ terrible and woeful cries can be heard!

All they do is march, march, march. Their feet drag on endlessly. Wiry and sharp trees droop on their head, clasping each ugly faces and set free thin streams of fresh blood to trickle down their faces. The red beady eye sits up high in the trees, staring with those never blinking eyes at the poor inhabitants of the world. This is the Nature of Man. All they do is march, march, march. March. March. March. Into the opaque eternity…In this world where happiness abounds, I see fresh wounds bleeding happily and freely. In this world where laughter is ubiquitous, I hear the omnipresent cries lingering from the gaping mouth of the Deep. In this world where every moment is treasured, I curse as the mocking Clock savors Men’s pains. On the fruitful trees that bloom every spring bringing life, Death’s fruits populate each dark limb. Where freedom is plentiful, the Dark, Cold, Grey Chains drags every free ankle. Clank. Clank. Clank. Onward they go toward the horizon like bellwethers obedient to the benevolent killers of the Deep.

This is the sinful Nature of Man.

“Depart, you angels! I am the Lamb and the Key. I shall stoop over every man, unlocking the yoked chains of slavery and proclaim every man a freeman. I alone hold the Key to the everlasting Light that shall never diminish; I am the Lamp that is set upon the highest hill, piercing the Deep. I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I am the last Lamb, the perfect sacrifice. The only thing I ask from you: come just as you are, shackled in the burdensome chains, filthy, weary, defeated; You shall be set free.”