It Remains

It remains, a scintillating conflagration of chasing the dragon,
A mockery of one's good intentions and infallible convictions;
A solecism of that which cannot be justified,
A word that can only relay the truth of one's terror, solidified.
It washes one's soul in tides, pulled by an infinite moon.
The beauty betrothed at high noon;
Such relief cannot be welcomed so soon.
One can only paint the sky in colors he is willing to see;
The dragon lies a tormentor within his belly,
The Great Inferno become an infinite sea.
 Its lies clamor and clang, reverberating within its ruined towers,
Becoming a perennial song that lasts through the years,
A shrill hum within the soul and a harsh thrum of the heart strings;
A love that becomes a sting, wishing for relief only perfect hope can bring.
An endless descent into the very depths of Babel.
The dragon watches in cruelty,
Laughs and commands fealty;
Here, in the fiery domain there is no hope for the guilty.
Shall I be saved from the dragon, or shall I walk the endless path
In order to slay it indefinitely?
Persephone must have known the suffering.
It remains.