Thoughts pulse to the flashing of a flickering street light as I walk empty city sidewalks. The cool night air kisses the salt of my sweat; it pushes against me softly, nudging me along like the movement of the ocean. Moments of my past begin to overwhelm my mind, the places I’ve been, the people I’ve met, the paths I’ve crossed. As I dream in spirit the city scape turns into a pitch black forest, rods of light pierce through the tops of trees and I begin to awaken to the cold bosom of reality, I force myself to suckle the teat of a world of opposites, its nourishment is filled with death, for all our lives are cloaked in the darkness of the inevitable, all our paths lead to the beckoning sound of a closing casket. From birth we struggle and yearn for the warmth of life, the embrace of love, the gentle touch of our mothers, our givers of life, to only find ourselves filling their place with the sight of cheap lamp shades, wallowing in the scent of one night stands.
Is life worth the struggles we face? How many of those struggles did we create for ourselves? Is there anything left pure, untainted by this world that turns on axles of desecration? I find my answers when I look into my daughters eyes as she wakes, bathing in the morning sun light that forces its way through the alabaster window shades half drawn in my room.