The Visit

Last night, I was visited by an idea,
A strange, impossible idea
Everyone is lost
Everyone blindfolded
And like Plato's cavedwellers,
Instinctively fear the Truth.
So, one will cry;
"I know all! Down with thinking!"
And like sheep unknowing of the slaughterhouse,
Flock to the chopping block.
The Visitor whispered "Revoltion now!"
But I was afraid.
I was afraid of the light of Truth,
Yet the siren song of reason haunts me still.
I cannot yell, can only whimper,
Cannot fight, yet anger simmers.
"God is not real" whimpers I,
"Devils are but a myth!"
But what takes their place instead?
And this, my friends, is why I cringe and run,
The light revealed not shadows, not deities past,
The ray of Truth pierced ignorant shadow,
The wardens, the Furies, all that we fear,
Is nothing more than a mirror.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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