In Sight

Possibly, there isn't anywhere to go from here.

There is always the option, always the chance that if you stick around, hang about, something might just come your way. But then, it might all just slip away.

If I stand here any longer and the ground falls out from beneath me, is it my fault if I fall? Or have I just decided not to save myself? Is it okay to let it crumble, let it slip, let it slide backward down the slope? Or, do I have to be strong, carry the weight, hold the load, always fighting, always climbing, always running faster than myself?

Pushing you along.

My arms are shaking and my back is aching and I don't think that I can push forward anymore. I need a break. I need a rest. I need to take a breath.

But, the questions still remain.
The questions from the past are still the same.
Will I sit down here and wait before you?
Will I walk on and wonder if you'll come up from behind?
Will I find another path that follows close but doesn't match?
Will I walk when you walk or stop when you stop and hope the world doesn't end before we're there?

The answers are all awful.
The solutions are all terrible.
I do not want a single one.

Ah, but I cannot make where I have gotten to. I'm on this road no matter how I try to change it or choose to take it. And like everyone else, I have to walk it until the it meets another one.

Unless I sit here until the sky falls down around me.
In which case, I guess it might be alright.

---
The implications of a broken soul are miserable and kind of clichéd.
So, I'll avoid them and talk in metaphors, instead.

The conclusions of the world are horrible and kind of overplayed.
So I'll avoid them and talk in symbolism, instead.

I am a white knight aiming deftly for the heart.
Despite the color of my clothes.

I ride at night and I always ride alone.
Despite who travels on the road.

After Falling in the Street

I fell today. Quite gloriously. The bike pitched, the handle-bars flipped, and I was bucked spread-eagle on the sidewalk of one of the busiest streets in the city right alongside a massive wall of windows.
It should have been quite hard to miss.

The creatures behind the glass didn't flinch, didn't stand, didn't move.
The creatures on the street, busy in their lives, talking to themselves or others everywhere else, walked around.
The creatures in their machines moved right on by at their impossible rate.
Everybody kept on: going and doing whatever it was they had planned to go or do.
Ever so occupied. Ever so busy.
Ever so blind.

I wonder how many people saw me sprawled on the sidewalk and thought I was taking a break? I wonder how many people saw me.

Rubbing my arms and dusting my palms and checking my bones to make sure they were all in their right place. Raising my bike and twisting its bits back in place.

Is this actually what we have become? Self-absorbed and self-driven and self-concerned? Always so occupied? Always so busy? Always so blind?

I hope if you see someone sprawled on the sidewalk along side a turned-wrong-ways bike, you don't carry on your conversation and simply walk around. I hope if you work behind a wall of glass and have the chance to see the world beyond, that you open up your mind and take a look.

I hope if you are claiming to follow some ideal or some morale or some code for living - that you fucking pay attention.

Turn the self down and turn the world back up.
I dare you.

Better now.

I wrote a song.
Lyrics, anyway.

I haven't written lyrics to a song or even a poem in years. Over two years. Probably, more like five or six.

Something terrible went down and something beautiful came up.
And now, here we are.

Better now, you could say.
If you wanted.