The Cloud

A cloud keeps me from seeing you.
This infernal cloud
Of smoke and dust, of death and fear.
I wave my hands to bat it away
But I do not try hard enough.
I hold something back.

Something holds me back
From that inevitable moment
When I will see you
And the sight will burn
And destroy my mortal eyes,
Burn them right out of my skull.
So that you will be the last thing,
The very last thing that I will see.
That is what I want, is it not?

But I hold something back.
Perhaps I want to run away
And turn my back on you
And hold on to the little balls
Of delicate flesh in my skull.
That I may behold the trinkets
And long forever for your fire
And the deep blindness it will bring.

But you will not let me go.
You lure and pull me through.
The rattle of the damru,
The scent of ash,
And the crescent moon in the sky
Drag me inexorably
Through this infernal cloud.