Compromise Grises

At our apex of futility stand we on the portico of a new reality, where great truths may launch us to the stars, whilst also the conflicted pull of inveracity remains ever-present. Even the channels to light are polluted, and wisdom blends with folly in a Mélange Grises that resembles neither the Word nor blasphemy. Oh what desperate bargains and cruel compacts fall we under now to scratch the barest victory from our dark overseer. For once a pint of lies despoiled a lake of truth, but now in equal reciprocity borne. On what slender footing stood our saviors that compelled accedence to such bitter terms, that the remnant now be such a pittance? Can we conversely find the truth in a lake of lies, or have the waters now become the elixir of spiritual death? With knowledge now reduced to a labyrinth of confabulations, can the human mind still divide fact from fiction? Our poverty of spirit has made even the Manna of God suspect, admixed with the poisonous gruel of deceptions. Are we then lost? What saves us now, with but blunted faculties and worn religion suspending us above an unthinkable doom. Has our appetence for evil finally done us in? We live now on Grace alone, and that but a meager portion, having long gorged away the better part. What we once assumed we now must parse with the utmost care, as now the stumbling blocks of our demise clutter all highways to our salvation.