While a conveyor of human kindness prevails, there are those who fall prey to a  provocateur with a whip that cracks through space and burns with words unkind, untrue. The sense is to help the burn victims, but if they choose to close their eyes to the fact that they can walk away and seek peace, then one can choose to bless the lost souls who thrive on fear and all that comes with an unpleasant choice.

With words that sear
like a
whip cracking through
space,
false ideals trick
the weak into
fear of the burn
from
the words that sear
like a
whip cracking through
space.

Submission to
fear binds
the fool into
chains
fused to rigid
walls of wicked
words that sizzle
like a
whip cracking through
space.

“Welcome to my
prison,”
snarls the pallid
provocateur,
his leather whip
in hand.
“Your soul,
your heart,
your mind
is mine
because
you fear the burn
from my words that
sear
from this whip
that strikes
your unwary space.”

And I witness
their fear ascend
like infernos.
I beckon,
“Walk
away,
look
away,
choose peace
instead.”

But the whip’s
a mighty force
brought
not by his love,
nor by his care.
And now,
they too,
spew words that sear
like a
whip cracking through
space.