Monday, January 19, 2009

My mouth full of gravel

Until the end of all of these things has past, what am I left to know but that which holds not the measure of my days? Until the end of all of this, am I left to be other than the touch of a cold hand in a darkened world? Hello my good old friend.

See this mire? Surrounding me and pulling down to the synthetic climax of the razor sharp wire, I can not retreat from the inexorable grip on my own. I pull my head back and still do I fail to fight my way free from the knowledge creeping up my spine. Lost to all of the slow replacement, the calcification and fossilization of the limbs entangled by the grip of this pit, I fall subsumed in my own dreams, my own self.

In the pit of my stomach, it starts. Nausea.

Alone I stood to fight this dark decay.

Fire in the sky.

Is this what I was designed for?


A darkness had surrounded me. I had dropped the baton, let the semaphore fires burn too low. Yet the whole time, I looked back to stare and wonder. Never again would I think I had been abandoned.

Despite the despair, regardless of what the optimists say, I know only one thing, only one man of whom to speak.

And through, through comes Victory.

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