AWAKE, BUT NOT ALIVE

She is the small still voice within,
an immortal warrior of conscience,
seeping into the blood of thought
to pierce our waking
with her crimson lance of ultimate truth.

Through the windows of our eyes
does her power flow so deep into our soul
as she seeks to free us
from the addiction to excuse and lies
we use to mask our lust for flesh and gold.

Ever faithful, ever vigilant,
to ignite in our spiritually vital veins
a flare of awareness from her righteous flames.

Her very touch wages war with our carnal demons
by a soothing, whispered potion of inner witness
blessing with an Elysium serenity sired release
while quenching the torch of an accusing hell
and granting clarity of right as our new found peace.

But in the mind seared of any guiding morals
being a slave to the daily diet of sins
the conscious treads like a drone with each breath,
absent the fire of virtuous purity
utterly dead to what resides
beyond the clouds and shadows,
awake, but not alive.