going on—a war
of attrition
with the fabric
of reality.
And the battleground for it
is a world all shot-
through
with the heralds
which we, in our darkest
minds, have yearned for.
By way of retaliation,
that world has convinced us
that the soul,
as given, doesn't
simply exist;
it must first be secreted,
then searched for
and earned.
And it isn't so pleasant
to leave behind one's body—
though it's something
like pure peace
on Earth to return.
