the black crow in the lions den

    there are days when I feel human. When pain is only a noun, not a verb. When you can feel the warm hand of reality stinging cold on your lips. But there are days when I do not. There are days when hurting not only consists of feeling pain, but of embracing pain, and of becoming pain. When you look but cannot see, touch but cannot feel, and breath but cannot be.. When the only thing human about you is the skin on your bones and the heart in your chest. When the only thing that's real are the lies of the voices you hear inside your head..  

My brother says there must be a God...

if there are demons.

       The darkness that would otherwise completely consume my existence, sits like fate's black crow watching me from a distance. He wishes to tear my soul to pieces, but he cannot touch me. Because I have something that He will never have, and that is hope. He hungers for my spirit. I am in the lion's den. If only He could get his hands on the one thing that could make human kind suffer for all eternity. If only he could just reach out and rip it out of my heart with his bloody claws. 

Then he could devour me whole. 

      But my faith, my hope, is an inexhaustible flame. Burning blue and ravenous. I am an untouchable. And that, that is why He thirsts for my destruction more than any other's. 
I am the one who condemns Him. 

     However faithful, the black crow finds his way onto the doorstep of those who are weak, those She loves. Because if he can destroy the people she cares about, he can destroy her Hope. He knocks on their door with a flirting hand and takes hold of the innermost corners of their mind. And piece by piece he expects she will fall
  deeper
    and deeper
        into the lion's den.
     But there's one thing he forgot. He forgot that there is something within the human heart that yearns to fight until its last beat. Something larger.. much larger is taking part in the mass survival of humanity. It is the bond of the human soul. A pencil alone will break in two, but 5, 6, 7 together will hold like glue. Even his largest and most ferocious legions are but paper in water to the purity and sanctity of an army of angels. an army of saints. an army of people. an army of humans. We are not prey. We pray. This is the last time the black crow will cross our path. It is time, it is time..