Well, I had the idea all planned out for
Part 3 of “Nothing
is Lost”, but the Mavs didn’t cooperate.
So, I’ve gone in another direction…. (and once again, this is
supposed
to be a “bit” melodramatic – and by bit, I mean a lot)….
Part 3
The sun has set. The tide
retreated. The stars swallowed by a
darkness of unbound depths. Veins are
now hollow caverns carved into cold flesh, and the well has gone
dry…..and for
the moment we’ll ride the clichés into purgatory. The
battle is lost.
Tethered to this decaying moment, there is no
solace, no
room for peace of mind, and no comfort in what shall be.
There is only regret for what could have,
what should have been.
With a severed ability to influence direction, no
arms to
grasp the steering wheel, we’ve watched our driver target and then drive
off a
cliff after placing his trust in cracked, worn and flattened
tires….condemning
those with the ability to support our weight and to veer away from the
crash
to the wasted realm of “what if”.
Passengers, we cheered and sought to inspire our
warriors,
who took to walking into battle, falling well behind our sprinting
desires. And when they did stand, when
they did find our enemy’s blood on their fists, they were all too often
pulled
from the fight, or left to gasp for breath beneath exhausted frames. No balance could be found.
Whether it be the detriment of near useless tools
thrust
into the trenches time and again by a leader with his head turned, the
ebb and
flow of official’s whims, or the failure to embrace lessons learned, the
result
is the same. All is lost.
As we sit in the gray darkness found in between,
we’re left
with nothing but anger, sadness and the haunting whisper of “what if”. Like a whisper caught in a cyclone of
repetition, it tears a scraping path. As
with any question that cannot find an answer, it grants only the twisted
destruction found in the helpless, futile search. Bursting
both eardrums in a silent scream, if
embraced, it will drown all thought…..but it is all that’s left.
Fingernails lie ripped away to hang at the edge of
that
cliff falling higher and higher away, and the ghosts of turns not taken,
of
roads left untraveled plead their sacrificed memory with glowing waves
above
the undertow that takes us now. Tossed
like a ragdoll in the currents reasonless reasoning, we
can only dance in the itch of “what if”
and what’s lost.
In the distance, there is a light. A
firefly fleeing some hidden sun. A
spark attempting to pierce the veil hiding tomorrow’s face, and the
expression
hidden there. It comes with old promises
made anew, and hopes revived and full of life.
It comes, but for the moment we are left here with nothing but
the
haunts of what never was, for it has not arrived.
All is lost….until it is found again.
Wah (to be said with
just the right amount of sarcasm and mockery)
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