(idea) by pukesick Fri Apr 07 2000 at 10:15:52
Grim. Torn.

How was I to know, as a boy?

Laying in the prickly grass watching a blue and white world drift overhead coerced by the gentle sounds of summer. Climbing though the tangle of branches skyward as they scratched and clawed my bare knees towards the higher rocking view of the world. Running over ties, matching the pace perfectly to the steel next to me as it glided along those rails with the force of everything, finally grabbing on and heaving up to feel the world in the wind rushing by. Can I really have known what was further down that path?

How is it fair and just for my life to have served as preparation for this? So eager and impressive before me, willing and ideal it breaks my heart deep inside to bend them to such malignance. Looking to them bright eyed and accepting I see my own self reflected not long ago, the harsh reality will slowly creep up from the bottom of thier soul to meet the truth once it is too late to turn back. We will not win, we knew too long ago, though to give up in our dreams all we have died for is too much to ask. Onwards. Thiers will be an acrid victory, when the last heart has taken its whisper of freedom away there will be no cause for cheer. Generations lost to the future will formulate a bitter resentment, for these eager eyes before me will soon sneak out to ruin and lay death in waiting to that which we cannot at this point hope to claim as our own.

And so in some manner we shall continue on in the future, if only as a sour memory and shocking unexpected heartbreak at random for those who inherit this all. And though I once felt noble and just for times I conspired sure evil, I do not think now that my spirit was truly decieved. It must suffer perpetual unrest and wander this cold land for it once had wings which are now wilted and blackened. To deliver this to those who once we matched in step, I do not think it can be reconciled. For it is many times fold a wrong to knowingly impress this path of despair which I have traveresed myself onto that which is yet pure and young.

I ask not for forgiveness, nor even peace in the end.

Page category:

I like it! 1 C!