18
Utter folly to view bells as objects of terror against The form.
To think white walls could shutter our shivering soul shells from the pigment of torment.
That praying to storm deities could liberate us from the weight of clarity.
A singular source could give us enough answers to escape The fear.
Belief, that faith could move a mountain –
The form.
I saw teal glimmering into the window reflecting onto Pastor Rick’s left cheek. For the first time I saw The fear inch slowly around his face. There was never I tell you a moment our congregation saw that man with the emotion we all know so well. The instinct that death is upon us.
Not in the 40 years I attended every sermon.
Not in the potential loss of cherished ones.
Not “in the valley of the shadow of death.”
That was how I unmistakably knew The anger was upon us. My legs sprung up and began to walk towards the door. There was a loud crackle, I looked back and the floorboards were lifting. The light glimmered from below in a way completely disjointed from reality. There was release from their chains, The resentment was at liberty.
The Lambent 