a grey silent sunday

The quiet fog enshrouds the city with cold wet arms.

We stay within our shells so as not to be touched by its penetrating fingers.

But it seeps through the cracks in the doors and comes creeping with the soul unwelcome and unwanted.

We fall back. We dive for cover. We turn away.

But it enters and stills and freezes our hearts and forces us to turn inward and see the ugliness we hide within.

We move, but the sinister air does not allow escape.

Fires will not burn it.

Lights will be dimmed by it.

Hearts are melting under it pressing weight.

We cannot escape the mirror it brings, for our hearts and souls are exposed to its intemperate gaze.

Look within.

Look within.

Confront the ugly creature within your soul.

Stand up to the darkness you alone can control.

Sear it and blind it with red hot tears and pulsing blood.

For you are exposed and you must deal with the nakedness of your flesh.

You must see the blackness of your inner being.

For only then will the light prevail.

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