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Twilight Tunnel

- Twilight Tunnel -
A Surreal Parable

Part One: Slayer of Fear

Within the twilight tunnel where moons never shine,
Across worlds, across stars, across spans of time�
The faces of doomed souls cry out for their maker.
But, the god of that domain is a bloodthirsty taker!
His name is Fear, and he robs men of their dreams,
Leaving only the face that, in his hall, only screams.
But beyond that tunnel, one who is brave and firm,
Shall find the heart of glory, never grave nor worm.
The sword of the conqueror is the hero�s own will,
Which is thrust into Fear�s heart, fear itself: to kill�
Even as the hands the fearful reach to rend and tear.
But they have not power to harm, only to ensnare!
The slayer of Fear beholds the glory that is beyond,
And dons the flowing white robes, of the champion.
The wings of the angelic shall be the hero�s reward,
Six for the seraphim who wields the blessed sword!

Fear builds the machines that destroy a spirit whole,
And his slaves power them with their battered souls.
Their skulls are cracked open by him yet they grovel,
Imagining Fear to be their master, within that tunnel.
The engines of destruction are silenced most loudly,
By the song of the slayer, who triumphs so proudly!

Part Two: Conquering Angel

Beyond the twilight tunnel, where glory has a home,
The flesh is stripped away, as is all blood and bone.
What is beneath is laid bare: the spirit and the self�
The conquering angel, who seeks glory, not wealth!
Shimmering brighter than a thousand suns a-blazing,
She comes in great glory, and her grace is amazing.
But those who claim to piety shall not become thus,
For she is the form that is granted to the righteous�
Not those who claim to be perfect, for those do lie.
The righteous angel, is humble, and shall never die�
Even when walking through the very flames of Hell,
Or when gazing into the depths of the deepest well!
She is the slayer of Fear, whose two hands are red,
With the blood of that tyrant, who lies freshly dead!
She drinks his blood, and is transformed thereupon,
Into a goddess: whose glory cannot ever be undone.

Fear is a part of every soul, and so we must accept,
That within each of us is a bed in which he has slept.
Kick him from that bed, and so tear aside his cover!
Never submit to be his slave; nor, his battered lover.
He cannot ravish you, for to him, you are inviolate�
If, you do not embrace him first, his vile lusts to sate.

Part Three: Goddess of Glory

Her harrowing of Hell is complete and so very dire,
That the damned are awoken from the personal fire:
Which, their perceived guilt summons to so torment.
We create our own perdition, becoming hell-bent�
But the angel is the savior that wears all of our faces.
Her names are our own, and she brings such graces,
As, cannot be dreamed of: by those so entrapped�
By their own evils, which deep within them are kept.
Yet within each slumbering soul, the angel will walk,
And with our own voices, she will so cunningly talk:
Of freedom and love, of compassion and of hope�
And thus are the damned freed from the dark yoke.
Hell is emptied when we become her, and so hold,
The sword of the seraphim, with hand grown bold!
It is anointed with the blood of Fear and of flame�
When we overcome our damnation and our shame.

Fear is only as terrible as you imagine him to look�
You are, only caught by him if you swallow his hook.
So steady your arms and prepare to face your fear,
In that twilight tunnel: of which in parable you hear!
The laurel crown of the angelic, is yours to achieve,
When the tunnel�s embrace, you triumphantly leave!