Moment of Respite

The flip side of the coin.

As it turns my mind floods with thoughts and ideas I force back the sleep and let my fingers expose the words trapped in an agitated mind by clumsy tongue, when the truth seeks escape in the form of voice rather than action. As if grasping wisps of smoke that gracefully tease toward rising orbits, I scramble to capture the moment in futile effort of making it justifiably true and now.

My soul in the Socratic Nature, yearned this time and I've yet to fulfill promises made in stressful moans and tearful goodbyes. I seek to commune with elders in the oven of my lost womb that birthed me a second time, giving me respite from grim grasp and an urgency that only the rushed can experience. Tearing one's nature apart may be the only way to satisfy everyone's promissory note as I ran out of half pound of heart flesh when I swore fidelity to infidels.

Crossroads remind me of where I travels as much as well worn heels of my vagabond shoes. Resident of my mind, native to my own fancy and brother to those who bleed, I've witnessed the decent of a creature known as man and the making of a beast that still wear a collar of a master lost. One can not accept the impotency of those moments that left a boy weak and the world a bit cruel. In arrival of scars earned from pilgrimages of future pasts and remnants of rose picked, one can not accept numerical equivalence to paths walked and dreams forgotten. The best answers are simply wordless moments where the weight is felt between knowing eyes and sighs shared for those who we lost behind.

For a flip of a coin, nothing is sacred and confessions are made to those who wear the dust of their sins. The ache of an age lost and decades forgotten return to us all and willing lies are set aside for ugly truth. Perhaps I speak into the vastness of my mind only to be lost in the echos. Mayhaps another is reached who share the same vein as I do and understand what is not said and what remains untold. Perhaps I ramble on as madness takes me as so many time before leaving me to a prison of failed words that die without conveying my plea. Mayhaps, I simply write to record my fear and wail to the world that sees me as what it made me rather than the one who is trapped behind time knowing that I will one day lay within the dust of many.

I do not know. For the toss of a coin I find a voice, if not my own then who elses?