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Funnel

Eric Burbridge

Clevon... clutch the memories of your rise to greatness.
It didn’t matter your spirit could not control matter.
But he saw the blood and lumpy entrails drip down the sides to a speck of light followed by faint screams.

Continued your dissent, but you slowed to admire your first position over the ordinary ones.
Feeding their screaming addictions gave you that egotistical power surge.
They fell into oblivion and you tip-toed over the putrid situations they created.
Their screams lashed out to grab you but couldn’t.
The misery coated lining propelled you faster.

Now the thirst for recognition was rewarded by the evils of prosperity... no matter what.
Prove that your desire is everything.
A disloyal friend will do.
Your shove became the terrible accident at the rock crusher.
Screams of snapping bone and splattered blood devoured by the blades added a beat to cries of that family’s misery and loneliness.
The front business was bigger than any pain, of any kind.

Space tightens down the walls of depravity.
Anguish and sorrow line the black clouds of your policies.
And, with the power given to you by the people, you rain bloody destruction down on the helpless so their leaders can mirror your wickedness.
Clevon...smell the burnt flesh and human waste, while technologies view them from high above.

Screams penetrate the fingers that cover your ears.
They drown out the congratulations for protecting the empire’s interest.
You ache without a body as screams get closer.

Only a few go through the bottom opening to greatness.
The walls are still slippery with the joy of death, misery, laughter of deception and the quest for gold.
Clevon...you made it. Great was your legacy, but comfort with The Greatest will not be yours.
The screams engulf you and return you to the top to try again.

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