Part 3

Behind my glass door

I open up to my truthful self.

There I see, without doubt,

the past of my rising enemy.

Therefore, he beholds all my sin

as we call him the devil him-self.

See through my vein the pain

what I could not share in words.

Because, in the far distance

I hear my home lullaby being sang by birds.

As I fight my doubts

tears roll under my eyes.

With vengeance I fight off the demons

That behold the inner lies.

Here I am, If not alone, as I say;

“Who will win and who will rise?”


Part 1

Part 2

Part 4 

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6 responses to “‘metaphor,”

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