Fear In Lament

By Bismay Rath

One must find fear funny, 

Ubiquitous in its gnarls and gnawing,

The mightiest of lads cower in its wake-

Or say grasp, for it knows no extinction. 

In that dim-lit room at two one morning,

I heard an echo, deep yet dear,

The slow whines of faith crumbling,

So groaned the angels, consumed by fear. 

Whom do the heavens fear?

The one that lurks at unearthly hours,

Dons the guise of goodness as he exhales,

Vainglory, draped in the Serpent's skin?

Is it that near-mortal Medusa,

Whose screams unnerve to serve her heart,

Dons the guise of devotion in dispirited eyes,

Feigns fright to entrap the snake she so adores.

Maybe it's that warrior clad in radiance,

Meandering through a desolate front,

Afraid of remnants unseen, pitying penance,

Who sings through the fringes with his shield, a shell to behold. 

There lies the serpent,

Basking beneath a sunless sky. 

Tiny specks of blue he perceives-

Blinded, frozen, petrified,

Unable to move, to make amends. 

The winds and earth once proclaimed

The firmament as the vastest, smartest of realms,

But what use is wisdom in stasis?

Beneath whom even the brightest of stars yield, 

That one dark dawn cannot undo, to lament. 

By Bismay Rath