Sitting and thinking, Fear has crept in and made it's foothold deep within that very small part in the cavity of the traveler. For you see, fear is a hateful thing, welling up and forming sadness and rage. It's a sinister beast that preys on the innocent...but the traveler knows that he has lost that title ages ago.
For he knows that his goods are outweighed by his bads. His Kindness outshown by his petty. His man encompassed by his beast. Yet he still yearns. Yearning for a day in which he could feel
sunlight on a new world.
For he still stings from the cold. Fear has brought along it's confederate lonely to rest in his chest. He feels them rummaging and tearing and finding every weakness that abounds. There are many.
Sitting and wishing (what a light defense against his enemies) has shown him one thing: that fantasy and reality do not convalesce one's soul. Nor do they cohere to one another in any meaningful way. They bounce about in and through one another, alternating their course and making liars of each individual dancer in their collective duet. they are not opposed to one another
Just opposite of one another, different in every way.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment