The Colors of Darkness and Light

The waters hold me down, encased in a comforter. It is a virulent strain of hostility my way that keeps me in Narnia during the days and The Moon of Endor at night. Vampiric strain relates best this way, but I wish to be alive instead. I pull at my consciousness, but I see the red eyes of warlockery enfolding me like the clouds in The Grand Canyon last week. Now THAT is not normal weather malady, but I just back away from the jagged edge. I find myself on the floor in the night, seeing the memories of past lullabies under my bed. Freedom is a world, but the shocks of darkness are the only light of emancipation. Maybe my way out seemed so cruel cool that they believe that they will never let me go. I find an ocean to dive in and swim away. Being alone encases me in the time of past moments, but the comedy as well. I sing to soothe my burning and singed soul, as the nightmares form statues of black that are as tall as an Indiana sky scraper. I look outside my crib and I see the gorillas, caribou, and sled dogs looking back, not sure what they should do. The tests of God are not easy, but they are documented and are close to becoming the closing of a pennetentiary door. I will be free. It is the guilty who never feel guilt. They paint it pink and paste it to a lavender door. I exist in black, but I sometimes catch a glance of turquoise and magenta in harmony. In the end, it will all be a green that could be plush forests, or just a devastating disease of mind, body, and spirit.