To fall off a cliff.
To fall off a cliff,
see through the flight once for all.
To kill who's known and dear,
rejoice in the stillness that follows,
frolic in trance.
Leave all humility at the climb,
when at the cliff’s shearing edge,
jump in, along, as the water falls.
Sever to death, like rocks
under the water's might.
And leave behind for all,
the task to find the cause.
When down with the rocks,
the last sounds heard
would win a final victory.
A far cry from the might of water.
They'll be guttural cries,
of those who deem this way of revolt
to be an unfortunate exit;
a resort of maniacs of faulted thought.
The victory lies in the fall,
in the crumbling fallacies
as they escape below,
from under the fenced-cliff.
And as I formulate my final-will
in my final chance at flight,
I reach for the divine,
and stab my dagger in the gut
of the theist's God.