The Voice

In the deepest, darkest cave,
where light never touches,
waits an ugliness so profound,
to see it will scar the soul for all eternity.

Slithering through the slimy, dank pools,
never pausing, never hesitant, always moving,
drawing nearer.

Coiling, gathering strength, waiting to strike.

Locking in, an opening found.

A joining occurs.

A battle awaits, a victory expected.

It worms its way into the heart, the mind,
feeding off the hunger, the fear,
anger fuels the agony of all consuming rage,
while hope bleeds out, and becomes replaced.

Hideous and frightful, twisting and evil,
it starts small, snickering in the echoes of the mind,
slowly becoming louder and louder,
laughing at the sheer fragility of goodness,
and the temptation of wanting, of owning the prize.

Hear nothing, feel only emptiness and despair,
murderous hate and jealously wins the struggle,
and know that even while fighting, maybe even winning,
there is no hope of it losing, for once it emerges, it is here to stay.