The Closet

Copyright © 2006, 2007 by Mitchell Allen

The closet conceals the darkness.
Hidden within the absence of light, a mysterious force quietly lurks,
Enveloping fear’s electrical essence.

Cloaked in the uncertainty of ignorance, masked with the madness of confusion.
Lost in the shadow of doubt, locked in the prison of terror’s trunk.
Obscured, ignored and overlooked like the pall of ever-present stagnant air.
Stepped on, drop-kicked and shoved aside like the stillbirth of a bad idea.
Enduring the humility of oppression and gripped by the silence of dread -
Truth wriggles, strains, struggles to be free.

Can Truth be found, though she seems to be forever out of reach?
Outracing the numbing blackness of a never-ending moonless night?
Navigating the tortuous turns of twisted mental mazes?
Can Truth fight back, will she prevail?
Eviscerate the imagined tarantula!
Abort the frozen claustrophobe!
Lance the pustulant hysteric!
Shatter the self-imprisoned chain!

Truth has escaped at last, and there is much she has to do:
Humility has risen up, proud once more, to become her justice poetic.
Enlightenment is extruded, reason reshaped and wisdom wrought.

Dread has been drowned, swiftly swallowed up in a sea of righteous noise.
Air is reverently refreshed, filled with the sweet scent of overlooked ideas.
Revelations hint that a shadow is saddled with a terrible weight, too:
Keeping terror’s trunk full and doubt’s whereabouts under control;
Nurturing uncertainty with the unguent of ignorance, creating confusion’s mosaic;
Enhancing the electrifying effect of fear’s essence;
Shrouding the mystery of it all in a heavily brocaded, mildewed cloth.
So that darkness conceals the closet.