Out here in the desert sun making my way down the line and at times feeling as if every step could be a final one. And it feels like I can’t seem to stop the pain that is sitting there in those smoking mirrors of memory, which cries out in my mind. Still I am walking tall and standing up when called out, feeling as if I were a part of a new breed being ferocious and wild. Walking through this desert heat where warm winds blow in the heat, and trying to be cool, collected, and at times savage. With there being times when need to shoot bullets of fire in the form of words that hurt and maim.
Victory in things never seemed to be mine and always went to the others, and all things were slowly lost over the years and leaving me mostly a whole lot of nothing. When I hit the bottom I broke my back on boredom’s rack. I once guessed my time was short, with there being very little I can boast of. Sun down and yellow moon rising out on the horizon, as I watch those stars go from blue to red in the turning of twilight. Knowing when all is said in done it will just start again. For history is like gravity and can’t be broken and holds things in place.
If the smoke from the fires of memory ever clear, I wonder if I could be seen and possibly recognized for who and what I am? And still I carry a bitter taste from things that went on, as some unresolved battles from the war still rages and stings, and I know and see every scene by heart. Wondering if I am getting too sensitive or am I just growing soft? Then again old habits die hard, just like old soldiers simply fade away. As I make my way down the line I travel from town to town and see a lot of people, and I just tell them I am passing on through like some kind of a wandering ghost. Hearing some voices in every sound and at times it feels like it won’t go away, but I close my eyes and turn to stone leaving myself blind till the moment passes. And there are those times when I feel like I carry the weight of the world on me and it won’t let me hold up my head.
Wondering if I should try and find a dream and knowing I’m just living for tomorrow? For it seems to me that the future is already a thing of the past, as I make my way on down this old broken road. And I need to make myself a different set of rules and stop being influenced by fools, and those who influence both the fools and the sages. The things they do, they don’t say when and it causes me to try and preempt their plans and head them off at the pass. Knowing the fire in my eyes causes their eyes to burn as I pass by, and keeps me alive as I head on down the line.
All things eventually change and I know only I can do what needs to be done and once in awhile I come back to the fold and those people who claim they are of my blood and time just flickers like a light and they know I won’t give in until the journey’s done. And over those green hills and forever in my eyes, there is a broken mirror view of all that has passed like a dream that won’t end, and once again breathing in the view as I put my foot forward and continue on.
Roaming around on the way down the line and at times looking down and seeing nothing but painted faces, and their plastic places. Wondering if they ever notice someone like me passing through on my way down the line, or do they really care what they see? When I’m gone or if I fall will anyone ever see the shadows on their faces? With there being times I am feeling myself through the darkness, and not knowing where the journey will end, and life will pass me by if I close my eyes and sometimes that just sounds alight by me. But then again life is a game that all of us play except those who think of it as their pantomime.
Then again the sun may never rise again, with it being not if but when, and that race can’t be won, with no refuge to be found. And the future then will be a dying art form and doesn’t care what side any are on.
Copyright: Timberwolf International LTD. March 2016 - 15