The Wax Conspiracy

Bright blessed days and dark sacred nights

Run for cover. Night descends quick with the passing light falling across the walls of the cave. Fingers touching candles, with the aim of bringing in the dark, feel the burn of absence that lies between the tips. Controlling destiny? A sleight for sore hides.

Waiting at the mouth, a cadre smokes the fear that leaves most shivering awake at the bright haze covering noon. Squinting past the clouds of distress, there's a horizon which wavers with the waves of hazel eyes.

Enough time passes for complacency and herein lies the trap. Unfolding upon itself, holding on to the health, rocks on the inside bear strange properties to that on the outside.

Cold, dark, devoid of light, their very essence saps the natural from without.

Ethan Switch

Written on Wednesday, 7 February 2007

The Wax Conspiracy

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