When Silence is Evil

There is a black obelisk that

Rose without warning.

Ominous, absolute, and indifferent.

Quaintly called 'the silent treatment,'

It was erected without consent

Like a monolith from an ancient, merciless cosmos.

Its surface offers nothing.

No handhold and no reflection,

No light and no warmth.

You circle it day in and day out.

You try to speak to it.

You implore, but it gives nothing.

This is not absence.

It is a presence.

A deliberate, destructive dark energy.

Its purpose is to reorganize the soul

Around its own diabolical gravity.

Quietly inserting chaos to make sure

Self-doubt settles in where

Certainty once lived. Anxiety, too.

Enough to fill the lungs like

Breath heaving against the midnight sky.

It makes you wonder if

You are the void.

The obelisk does not care.

That is its power.

It exists to devour the soul.

But there is a greater truth.

This kind of stone, however ancient,

No matter how strong, was raised by human hands.

And what hands have built

Can be broken. So, choose.

Destroy it!

Then walk away from it.

Go and kneel at the base of the cross.

It's the only megalith that has ever mattered.

Seek the illuminated darkness.

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