The Demon Worry

“Drag your thoughts away from your troubles… by the ears, by the heels, or any other way you can manage it.” – Mark Twain
“Some men storm imaginary Alps all their lives, and die in the foothills cursing difficulties which do not exist.” – Edgar Watson Howe
xsleeplessness

Worry is a demonic embryo, its umbilical cord attached directly to my peace of mind and contentedness. It draws creative energy from them while imparting a deadly pathogen of anger, haste, and anxiety in a sticky mire of mental paralysis. The foul sinister infant spoils achievement by robbing me of the pleasure of attainment and eating the beauty of “Now” by a bloody spell of “What If”. To what do I owe the conception of this deceitful child? The copulation occurred by a rape of my mind from circumstances beyond my control. I thought it best then that I destroy it, to rid the world of this scourge. Many coat hangers of those attempts at abortion litter my thoughts. The wounds I inflicted are worse than the thing itself. Still, I made it this far, although I see it kick in my belly, its grasping hands pressing against my skin, deforming the beauty of birth with its sickening form. There is one antidote, a thing just as evasive yet, powerful enough to counter the poison of the demon Worry – my lover Faith. I follow her close and with every wonderful kiss she imparts a temporary immunity to my anxious contractions. There are nights I lay in her arms, as the thunder approaches, and instead of frightening me, it provides a romance for our affair, our bed alive with the fiery passion of battle. Faith, how is it you can take my dreary anxious nights and give me smiles of joy in the mornings after? The battle rages on, the sickness only cured by death, wherein Faith and I will join in eternal matrimony, our children never cursed with the vile afflictions of Worry.


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The Becoming

“Look at the sky. Does its sapphire hue dim when you take a single breath? Are the stars drawn closer when you weep? The sky cannot be diminished so. Thus it is with the spirit: it is a thing without beginning or end.” – Elaine Cunningham, Realms of the Arcane 
Dennis Auburn Miles

With dark magic you break into the caverns of my memories. A vaporous arcane finger begins its assault on my sequestered passions and in an absolution of experience, all visions of women begin to morph into beauties reflecting you. I labor with the change, and find my smile is a close companion in willing submission to your spell. How is my power taken so quickly in our interludes? I blame it on the slipping years, their subtle grip slowing my resistance, and with gradual persistence, opening my world to your reaching grasp. A knowing glance chases my hesitations, and with prowess you pursue my remaining enclaves. You and I now, become we.

Power of the Blade – Faith in action

   “Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.” – Khalil Gibran

“If fear is cultivated it will become stronger, if faith is cultivated it will achieve mastery.” 
Swinging wildly, I caught the beast just under the jaw line. It’s chilled dark blood spewed across my chiseled chest and tainted my lips with the taste of iron. My blade performed perfectly, its power in the sound of visions, its speed in the echo of images burned in my mind from my youth. The creature fell like so many, and meat for the taking lay at my feet. The promise of the blade is that with unwavering certainty, the purpose of the wielder is accomplished. Like many of the nether regions promises, a condition of sort is implied. I cannot for one second doubt the accuracy and lethality of the keen edge and rune struck blade, for in that second of doubt, the blade dulled and its weighty course lost it’s objective. It’s quite disturbing to see my weapon lose its edge and become a twig in my hand. I learned over the course of many battles, that faith in that blade, gave me favor and strength in my choices as I pressed across this desert land. During one lengthy battle I lost my grip and it flew off down a steep ravine. Left with only a very ordinary staff, I forgot to lose faith…for so long I trained myself to never doubt, that I swung that wooden accessory and to my amazement, it hit home with the same unerring providence! I then learned that, the blade though magical, only served to train me, that though magic is strong, faith is stronger and even above the metamorphic power of unseen spells, my faith gave me the ability to transform the ordinary into that of perfect power. I found my blade, but, I never forgot the lesson. All things are possible with faith, and if I will just persevere with that faith, though I lost one advantage, another will fulfill my purpose just as well.

Burnt Bridges

“The only bad thing about burning your bridges behind you is that the world is round”

“That bridge you burn, in laughing pride walking on
Is the path that destiny forces to spawn
That one that is rejected will lead you the pawn
The day that died will be reborn atdawn.” – DMW




He laughed under the command of alcohol. With mockery his grand speech proclaimed the worthlessness of my life that he used to facilitate his riches. Needing his provision for my daily supply, I grew rebellious inside. The Boss continued his diatribe in the firelight. On my struggle he built his joy. My work, that though he taught it to me, stood alone in stark contrast to his proclamations. Joyfully he lit a match to burn the bridges and isolate me in shame. As the last timber fell in ashen dismay, the universe set in motion a turn of events that always humbles the proud. Within in months, he fell under the spell of my promotion and others saw to my advancement. The year ground on and then, in the new birth of spring, when burned things turn green again, his mistake of taking the common man for granted gave him a startling revelation. His work is now for me, and I, with humility, take his reigns and learn this, that all bridges will one day be crossed again, so be careful of the paths we leave behind. 

And So It Begins – an end to pain

“A fool’s paradise is a wise man’s hell.”
Thomas Fuller 

 
 And so it begins, my journey through hell

Change in my life, at the tolling of death’s bell
Pick up the pieces, never yielding the spell
Still I press on, advance, though it’s just as well
It will soon end, my journey through hell