Take Off The Blindfold Adjust Your Eyes Look In The Mirror See The Face Of Your Mother

From miles away, you are hearing the news.

As you walk this cursed ground, visiting for the first time in many years, a messenger arrives.

Her eyes are bloodshot, her voice distorted, her breath stinking of dehydration.

And she tells you,

“The universe is waking up to itself,

prophets are receiving visions,

and God-defying towers formed in hedonistic abundance are toppling over.”

There is an aura of pathetic surrender surrounding you.

She continues,

“Armies formed from eating scraps emerge ready for battle,

with powerful weapons fashioned from air through the effort of their sheer will,

realizing that the foe is not the great force it seemed.”

Your eyes start to wander. You notice the veil,

Hanging in the distance.

The veil hangs from somewhere undetermined.

Nobody has ever questioned this veil,

so it has drooped for eons, never being disturbed.

But now, just when you have noticed it for all its confusing placement,

it falls.

The messenger beside you dissipates to sand.

The veil, once protecting a mysterious and dreadful implication,

pulled away reveals nothing but dirt and dust.

Swirls of nothing, swirling nothingly,

But--

Who is this stranger?

A figure emerges in the distance of the swirls.

As She turns toward you,

Her hair and Her eyes remind you of someone you lost long ago.

The imprint of Her face burned into your retinas,

Her breath,

from which you were formed,

Gives the reason you walk this cursed ground.