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The Beast

     Outbursts of anger and the wish for forgiveness alternate with a deep sadness.  There is almost nothing else to say.  The remembrance of a dream floats somewhere, yet its ethereal nature fails to find a foothold in the fertile soil.  Would the seed of utopia grow…?  Or would the strong winds of chaotic emotion sweep away even that which it had sought to cultivate?
     There was a need for stillness and peace.  Being calm seemed to be the only solution to keeping the raging beast that had become one person's twisted battered heart at bay.  Yet being calm in the midst of sentimental shrapnel was futile, since the stray wounding bits of metal served only to enrage the beast further.
     The dark hooded figure shook its head. Who was this beast, was it a real entity or the manifestation of a tortured mind?  This question alone weakened the beast some, and pacified its throes of deranged sadness to mere flailing appendages of a human out of control.  There had to be a way to bring some semblance of human dignity to the visage of animal pain.  A few moments of reflection smoothed the furrowed brow and slowed the rapid breathing.  Soon no trace of wildness remained on the human face. There was only a tear streaked weariness and an immense sadness and resignation.
     The dark hooded figure smiled a sly grin of a smile.  The reins were in his capable hands again. He would make sure that whatever phantasm lurked within his domain, the labyrinth, remained sedated and under lock and key.  He did not know, or care, what the “beast” had once been, he only knew he did not want it to disrupt the quiet empty walls of his maze.

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