The Serpent, The Fire Poem by Rowan Welch

There would've been more if I wasn't interrupted, but here:
The shadow man walks in,
Smiling at you, at what you've allowed yourself to become.
Smiling at the people you've allowed yourself to be around.
A wicked smile, making still all that cross it's path;
Any who get in its way.

An inevitable fight;
One always lost.
One always fought.
It's time to stop fighting,
To let the darkness out.

To let what once lurked free in the begging as a being of pure entropy:
He who manifests and devoures all fear,
Rejoice in sweet renewal of lurking.
But the play must go on,
And your part must continue to struggle,
To feed and secure what lies within.

But security is temporal,
And your monster is not.
To release it would mean chaos;
To imprison it would bring self destruction.
Yet the play goes on.

To the temptress, you're a Beast,
Awaiting a tamer.
To the foolish you're a menace:
Mean and maniacal.

But to Him, but to Him.
O' a creature of ancient.
A creature indeed.
The snake known as naught,
The pain with no end.

But He, no not He,
The effortless One.
He, certainly not He,
The fearless one,
Can see such a monster with any but clear vision.

A flame, smokeless upon flame.
The fire.