The Epiphany is at hand by Gloria Chimelu
Walking through earth’s realm, I behold mediocrity. I spit at it.I
It is the norm, so acceptable,
the crevice for cowardice.
I look at their faces, alive, but dead within. Do they not know the
power they possess? They are all blind!
I ache with loneliness, does no one see the chasm of knowledge? Do you
not hear the voice of creation calling from the deep?
Afraid, they shut it out. Do not be content with mere crumbs, the
vicious cycle of your bland lives.
There is more! More! I am mad, yes, but I will be mad to be
enlightened. I herald the gospel of escape. “Prepare the way for the
It is rejected, as all gospels are.
I hear it in the brooks, in the crashes of the tide, in the roaring of thunder, in the symphony of rain drops.
They all scream: Ye are gods!
I sit alone on this cliff, I am young, but unlike them, I yearn for
more. It would be a sin to die with my powers. Powers are to be
The Epiphany is at hand.
by Gloria Chimelu.
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