The Chronicles of Pain

He stood.
A delusion? His playful mind gnawed at this delicate pang of apprehension. Struck, beleagured by the cold slap of fear, ringed with doubt. A befuddled grimace at the volatile pound of his heart, its pace a quake of insurgency, mercilessly prey to a ribald deluge of duress. Devouring his powerlessness. Its cruelty accentuated by the mindlessness of gluttony, the brash eccentricity of greed.
And then....and then a surreptitious calm, a calm possessed by a latent peril unbeknownst to its prelude.Beckoning, heralding the daneuse of danger the writhing quake of dread, the galloping storm. Prologuing a climactic explosion, a galactic furore, its asperity a question. Answered by a flagrant dispossession of his senses, ostracised from his being. They leave him to swell with the enormity of a suffocating impatience, an unpalatable emptiness...its spineless fecundity a weapon, granting him a mutilating whiplash at every pore. Sinking its claws into the raw vulnerability of his every bone...
His face reposed in deceptive quiet, an elegant epitome of enamor, the unmasked taint of cold rivulets of sweat betraying his incalculable fear. Each drop satiated with his stark helplessness. His disconsolate demeanour.
The unsung wreath of confidence, a figment of his delirious pride, the innocent white foam trailing the breast of the pompous expanse of azure sea, ripped by every ripple of pain. A nebulous haze of nude disbelief shrouding his intellect. The finality of this torrential debacle pierces his persona. He is throttled by the chaotic treason of uncertainty. He is besieged by a punishing loss of faith. Cradled in the beguiled arms of this juggernaut. A blade of grass embraced by the behemoth. Bludgeoned to the last lear, his silence a surrender. His eyes an irresolute cry of despair, the expostulations in them reverent. Try as he might, the gallows of redemption were an unshakeable bondage, the quest for beatitude a reverie.
Yet, he stood.