Flight through Fear

Over the mountains of psychosis, through the canyon of dispair,
in a dream I walked the length to see what might be there.
I came across a gateway made of silver set on iron,
and high above a statue perched, a finely sculptured lion.

On it's head was made a royal crown of solid gold,
It's coat shimmered in the evening light, although the stone was old.
The light glittered off it's snarling teeth and rubies were it's eyes,
snarling up towards the heavens, howling up towards the skies.

While I was looking at the statue and debating at it's meaning,
and admired how the evening light set it's coat of jewels to gleaming,
A voice rang through the canyon and bounced off the rocky walls,
loud even over the raging sound of the distant Mellow Falls.

It spoke to me of demons, of the beasts that lie within,
and it spoke to me of terrors and mortal men punished for sin.
It spoke of lands that

Nicholas Bronson

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