Dread the man whose body lame still walks the earth,
psychambulatory life that casts a shadow in the dark,
counting coin that spirits e'en know not their worth,
bending to himself time's iron arc--
disembodied reflection that fills each hiding place.
Fear the phantom who wandering searches,
strewing ectoplasmic film over your polished wares,
leaning and lumbering as toward you he haunting lurches,
his heartless cavity void of conscience and emptied of cares--
doppelgänger ghost that possesses the alter-dimension's space.
Shudder the fiend that from your mindless moments was released,
Poe's raven who at your ocular windows eerie sits,
whose utterance when you desperately silence is only increased,
driving you evermore mad with his witness of your witless wits--
soul-gutter ghoul whose semblance mirrors your veiled face.
Shock and stammer, terror and tremble,
menace and mayhem as duplicitous whispers prophecies dissemble;
behold your image marred,
contemplate the visage scarred,
gaze upon the self you denied,
speak the truth that to yourself you lied,
and see that when you killed him it was you who lonely died.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW
Read more articles by Tim Rake or search for articles on the same topic or others.