Fear of the Mind

The wind blows,
Brushing the claws,
Of the creeping willows against the window.
The cat screeches,
As the depths of the night finally become silent.
Doors and stairs creak,
As a known stranger approaches his victims,
Using the cover of his shadow's hate.
The screams of the night,
The creatures of despair,
Haunt the very thought of internal balance,
As they whisper in our ears.
The faces we see,
In the abyss of the crowd,
Come back to but torture the soul.
The trust we had,
The pain of fears we gain,
Are only the tests of the heart.
No,
Not the heart,
But the powerful mirages of the mind.
People speak of fears,
Like the unforgotten line that defines reality.
That there is a way to cross over it.
Comparing the evil of man,
To the darkness of the Black Prince's land.
People shouldn't fear the wonders of the night.
Nor should one fear fear itself,
For it's the mind that plays and repeats the tricks.
The mind replays every moment,
Every painful,woeful,deep,dark secret.
Moving on,
Never seems to be an option.
It's the mind,
The power within.
It's the thought,
Of "It was I who finished the enemy!",
"I who thrashed the blade into the delicate form!,
Who saw the red blood fall,
The blood of my veins!"
To think there could be such joy,
such happiness,
From a sin so vile,
That the Devil himself wouldn't hestitate,
Not for a second,
To send his demons and God's dark angels,
After the soul so lazily claimed as your own.
It's fear of thought,
Fear of time,
Fear of what lies in the beyond,
That seems to end in demise.
It's the fact that it's not a new hand,
Or a strange hand,
But your hand that ending life.
The sorrowful music,
Seems to dance in your head.
Light turns to dark,
Good into Evil,
As the Grim Reaper visits with his chains.
The voice of the blade to the wood,
Brings back that dreary tune.
The tears drop down,
For the pain to live.
It makes the soul woe to think,
That one who has only nightmares,
And sees the all the dark signs,
Is the one frightened of the world,
When those who have suffered,
Yearn to live life to all it's glory.
It's for this,
This weight on my shoulders,
This imprint in my head,
These images of darkness,
That I fear the mind.
For the mind is something,
That even time cannot offically clean.