So this is the fate to which I've condemned myself: the fate of the damned.

The grasses are eight feet high in every direction. For how far? Two more feet or two more lifetimes? How can I know? How can I rise above to see which way to go? If I toil in futility, set me free now. But do I quit while on the edge of freedom?

Is this what they call a crisis of conscience? To endlessly labor in cutting down tall grasses to move...where? Forwards? Backwards? I just want to cry to think my life means so little. Why has God hidden purpose from me? I won't find it mired in this living hell.

I tried civilization with its civilized lies and civilized cries and its civilized knives. I could find no civility in civilization, only the appearance of it if one wished to be deceived. A diet of deception is their idea of life. Would I be content if I could fool myself as well as they do? I came here to hide. But now that I'm hidden, now what?

At night ghostly fears descend upon me. They feast on me unrestrained. Here in the tall grasses no one can hear your plea. I do know murderous monsters roam these grasses, free to kill as they please in sanctioned darkness. They come here looking for stragglers like me. I won't be missed if I die. How cruel is it that the only ones who understand I can't live in sick society are my sick betrayers?

I won't be sad to die. The wilderness holds no hope. I must feed myself a false future to continue. It's a diet of death. I'm shell-shocked in a war without possible end. Separated from love, I boil under the gazing sun; each dawn I die. The only true friend I had was the one who said she could not help me.

Every day the heart breaks in brittle cracks, bugs crawling over my limp body as I slump down in debilitating despair. Speak whatever philosophy you please, it changes not the swallowing jungle gulag. Into the wilderness dreamers come to die, concealing their misfortune from eyes who know. Am I left to pray only for the impossible? I can see the mocking moon but not escape to it.

On bitter almonds I must chew, another lost life among a sea of millions floating down the river of doomed desire. God cares not why we've chosen this path, only that we're cleansed from the earth.

Views: 33


You need to be a member of Our Salon to add comments!


Shaken, Not Stirred

Posted by Tom Cordle on December 12, 2018 at 8:50pm 3 Comments

The Incovenient Son 1961

Posted by Doc Vega on December 12, 2018 at 6:22pm 0 Comments

Blind men describe Trump

Posted by Dicky Neely on December 12, 2018 at 9:24am 1 Comment

Not A Fish Story

Posted by Robert B. James on December 12, 2018 at 8:30am 5 Comments

The Master Plan

Posted by Doc Vega on December 11, 2018 at 2:21pm 0 Comments

1975: The Sting

Posted by Robert B. James on December 11, 2018 at 8:30am 2 Comments

Thoughts on My Day Trip to Tijuana

Posted by Johnny Robish on December 10, 2018 at 8:35pm 7 Comments

What Defines a Team Player

Posted by Rodney Roe on December 10, 2018 at 11:21am 10 Comments

© 2018   Created by lorianne.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Privacy Policy  |  Terms of Service