I’ve been made to understand
you’ve tamed the voices in your head,
and slaughtered to silence those
around your heart.
It’s no small thing you’ve accomplished.
You must yell ever louder,
and cut yourself until they bleed too.
Twist them slow and painfully,
like a rusty top forcefully pried
off the warped rim of a broken jar.
Grind them until their screams stop.
Take, then, the piece of you that survived the
furnace and the crucible,
and withstood the elements
of scientific arrogance
eroding the world,
and escape to
the quiet of your soul.
Watch the chaos of life leak,
streaking down the windows,
streaking down your face,
in the silent wailing
of the tamed voices,
and name yourself their
Master.
BlackQuill 