Caught

My body is not a sanctuary of peace as it should be.

There is no hint of heaven, but a battleground of war with blind soldiers serving in cynical sadness.

One side fighting the other to prevail.

Doubt against reason.

Confirmation against the unknown.

I do not know how I became.

I only know how I survived.

In life, as I will in death, walk in my shadow knowing the righteous will prevail against the tyrant who feeds on the flesh of my soul – feasting on the last ounces of goodness left in my body.

I will resist the hunger and feed sorrow no more; I will starve the demon that drains me of my clarity and innocence.

I will whisper my story and it will come by wind to the ear of anyone who will listen, but may prove no match for the hypocrisy of a system that fails the weak and gives to the stronger evil.

I am caught.

Between two worlds waiting for the resurrection of my being.