In time, nothing shall come to pass but more time that shall also come to pass. Reminders will abound with a clarity and obviousness that makes you wonder if in the mind of the imaginer, this is merely a misappropriated slant that refuses to partner with a divine and purposeful whit, or first sounds of a daybreak that deserve our eternal gratitude, yet are not offered as a means for us to stay awake.
Backstage there is a calm that knows to trust where each foot is to be forwardly placed. Being kind is how I honor what I dislike the most. Thankfully, there is help that seeps thru the stickiest of bindings, just enough to keep me lured to the page. I rise briefly, before collapsing…I am not well…I cannot lift my spirits or part my lips to disengage. Old friends sweep the dust that collects within the corners, where unasked life patiently resigns. They know not to offer anything more, that is the penalty for their hope and the instinct of my consternation.
Without pigment, everything is perfectly non-descript. There is outline amongst the familiar murkiness, and grace in the omnipresent backdrop of the unrecognizable. The architect of permanency may be on the way, or he has already predated his arrival. Never concerned with privilege or nomination, the fish who runs from the splashing, artificial bait is often willing to trade assurances for the serenity of the dying air.
Cheap thrills brush against the slimmest of summits that barely dangle from the thralls of my hyper extended knee. Glad you could stop by, it is sad that I have to hear my own words now obeying a newly preferred master. My voice will forever be hoarse, but I must bargain with whatever we have left…to follow the pacing of the light and its elusive pattern. Please try to keep up…I could not bear to abuse my place any longer. Soon, I sense nothing, but drying emotion upon my vacant skin.
If only the practicality of thought could learn to balance the art of speculation against the cost of reminiscent jeers. Perhaps…Perhaps…I could find myself fashioning a set of regretful tears, amidst the unfurling of a backwards wave. In conscious madness…time could fib within this state…recognizable…I shall smile inside…until it is safe to regurgitate the crumbs of fate.
