The Beast
The Beast
That beast pounding at the door- my door, your door- is insistent.
I hear him every day, and so do you.
He roars. He knows you. He knows exactly what to say.
He relentlessly inquires, “Why!?” he insists, “You are not good enough!”
You try to cover your years, but to no avail.
He screams, deafeningly, all the dark little somethings that haunt.
His sharp claws relentlessly scarring and chipping the wood.
It splinters and cracks, the hinges begin to break loose.
Standing alone on the other side, the anticipation is unbearable.
How can this perpetual torture of this conceptual creature be stopped?!
His roar will not be dampened by a cool, golden/brown flood.
He cannot be drowned in that poison which only exacerbates your pain.
His eyes are sharp, perceiving all the tiny signs and signals etched subtly upon your
brow, at the corners of your eyes, in the curve of your mouth.
And he won’t be blinded by the smoky, sour haze you blow casually into this face,
While you secretly, slowly suffocate inside.
He will only be delayed by thick smog or crashing waves.
Such desperate efforts will invariably fail to keep him at bay.
To beat back the beast forever, in this way, is impossible.
He’ll root you out from your comfortable corner or shadowed hollow.
Surely another solution is at hand. Maybe send him away to a far away land.
Perhaps we can reason with the beast, make him understand.
That he is not welcome here, we’re losing our minds.
There is a repellent, but it’s not a catch-all. It’s a little different for each and every
soul, crouching, terrified, behind each and every door.
Hone your sword, grit your teeth, and meet his fury.
Perhaps close your eyes, and arm yourself with prayer.
Or soothe him with sweet notes, sent dancing through the air.
But find the sword that rests well in your hand,
Pray to the God whose love you can feel,
Or seek out the notes that best bring ease to your soul.
And, in the end, your sword, which slew the beast, may be constructed of nothing but
thin, brown cardboard.
The notes that ring so sweetly to you, and slumbering monster? They fall discordant, on
the ears of another.
Your gospel mocked, and your God, who promises safety and salvation from the wrath of
that hellish creature, will be laughed at, a falsehood to many.
But there’s little else that you can do.
So cast your lot, and pick the repellent that speaks to you.
Choose the one that makes happy, choose the one that makes you brave,
Choose kindness and choose love, choose the compassion we all crave.
And choose patience, choose understanding, for with certainty you can know
That every single other soul grapples with a ferocious beast all its own.
That beast pounding at the door- my door, your door- is insistent.
I hear him every day, and so do you.
He roars. He knows you. He knows exactly what to say.
He relentlessly inquires, “Why!?” he insists, “You are not good enough!”
You try to cover your years, but to no avail.
He screams, deafeningly, all the dark little somethings that haunt.
His sharp claws relentlessly scarring and chipping the wood.
It splinters and cracks, the hinges begin to break loose.
Standing alone on the other side, the anticipation is unbearable.
How can this perpetual torture of this conceptual creature be stopped?!
His roar will not be dampened by a cool, golden/brown flood.
He cannot be drowned in that poison which only exacerbates your pain.
His eyes are sharp, perceiving all the tiny signs and signals etched subtly upon your
brow, at the corners of your eyes, in the curve of your mouth.
And he won’t be blinded by the smoky, sour haze you blow casually into this face,
While you secretly, slowly suffocate inside.
He will only be delayed by thick smog or crashing waves.
Such desperate efforts will invariably fail to keep him at bay.
To beat back the beast forever, in this way, is impossible.
He’ll root you out from your comfortable corner or shadowed hollow.
Surely another solution is at hand. Maybe send him away to a far away land.
Perhaps we can reason with the beast, make him understand.
That he is not welcome here, we’re losing our minds.
There is a repellent, but it’s not a catch-all. It’s a little different for each and every
soul, crouching, terrified, behind each and every door.
Hone your sword, grit your teeth, and meet his fury.
Perhaps close your eyes, and arm yourself with prayer.
Or soothe him with sweet notes, sent dancing through the air.
But find the sword that rests well in your hand,
Pray to the God whose love you can feel,
Or seek out the notes that best bring ease to your soul.
And, in the end, your sword, which slew the beast, may be constructed of nothing but
thin, brown cardboard.
The notes that ring so sweetly to you, and slumbering monster? They fall discordant, on
the ears of another.
Your gospel mocked, and your God, who promises safety and salvation from the wrath of
that hellish creature, will be laughed at, a falsehood to many.
But there’s little else that you can do.
So cast your lot, and pick the repellent that speaks to you.
Choose the one that makes happy, choose the one that makes you brave,
Choose kindness and choose love, choose the compassion we all crave.
And choose patience, choose understanding, for with certainty you can know
That every single other soul grapples with a ferocious beast all its own.