Breathe.
The air is stale
almost rancid
it smells of old age and failure,
of weariness and fatigue,
of repetition.
What are we doing?
how long have we been here?
it could be forever,
existing to wait
for something to happen,
for something to set us free.
We don’t want to die here
the walls are too strong.
these walls that keep us in
there is something in the way,
as has always been
this is the design
‘Look for the door,’ everybody yells.
Help.
how do we get out?
there is a place beyond these walls
we know that
right? right? surely?
it can’t just be this enclosure.
It is dark
it has strangers measuring each other
with cold eyes
those eyes have seen eternities,
decades of fumbling,
maneuvering futile escapes,
finding secret doors
in relentless search for escape
only to be thwarted again and again
In this confusion..
we collapse
feeling for a door,
failing and faltering,
crying and howling.
Sadness gives to quietness and we rest sometimes
digging into our private wounds.
agonizing
the only way we know
to rest our minds from
wondering if this perdition is our home forever
the fever always comes back
to torment our souls,
chastising and enamoring,
with shadows of ‘what it could have been’
and sunlight of ‘what it can still be?’
if we were bolder, braver, cleverer.
better..
or if we can still be.
And we madly rush to find the door
frail creatures of passion and guilt
may be this time,
this time we shall find it
Out, out
God.
may be, just may be,
we could stop trying?
wait and it will come to us?
redemption, if not revival
if we stop protesting
denying what is
stop chasing our chimeras
Is there? is there hope then?