All alone in his confines he struggles
tossing and turning aimlessly. Nothing seems to be going right. All the spent his
time chasing, all he thought he needed, all he endlessly craved for, all he thought
he needed to be happy he doesn't have. But he is still alive, breathing the same
walking, talking. Nothing's changed. All the things he thought he would be
missing out on now seem juvenile. Is this what they call growing up?
Has age finally caught up? He is numb,
no feelings even disturbingly towards himself. No room for you, you or even you.
A hardened soul a result of journey covered so far. On that has brought with it
many battles, many lessons and revealed countless realities. It has by no means
been easy, many a comrade have fallen by the way side unable to discern reality
and fiction; unable to place themselves in the present and how it relates to them.
They feel lost, misplaced and crave to be elsewhere, where the reality they perceive
to be less cloudy; less ambiguous. They forget mankind is himself ambiguous, an
enigma to himself. To appreciate these simple facts is the beginning of life. Not
everything was meant to be understood, not every task was meant to be completed,
and not every soul was meant to be at peace for only death brings peace. From
the womb to the ground is a constant battle only survived by the unrelenting.
To toil is to be human. The
ironies of life; ask towards more questions; keep looking for more answers the more
answers you get; to keep working towards rest. These are the days, filled with disillusionment,
only the hands of time hold the answers to the hard questions the solid truths and
the inevitable actions. He hold out clinging to hopes of seeing a brighter tomorrow. That time will find him ready; that time will find him waiting
is all that he prays for. Before the numbness decimates him irreparably.
