Truth is the most hidden, the most forbidden essence of all. Smells can be remembered, triggering waves of the past and all that came, or didn't, or may have twice, moments and conversations, connections and missed opportunities, or the right things to say, at the wrong times, at the most crucial hour and vulnerable breaths; death, and all that it opens, or closes waits...brakes busted, gears churning, a slide from the cliff into the inevitable, or the depths, of fear and love, opposing one another inside a bitter and dismal tango, where underdogs are real, losing battles most of the percent, only to make the one victory shine brighter than endless defeat, and impatient ascent.
Descent, into the cloudless days of gray and doubt, rhymes broken and found, strength sacrificed to be profound, to exist, or falsely claim being through sacrificial words, shunned feeling lost in the abyss of communication, a nation, divided by lines and the imagination of men assumed to be greater than those equal, living and working for different goals and tribulation, all to fall and rot in an unseen shadow, and fear of numb tranquility, forced confrontation, ground into the dirt and the common, where we will all lay together.
We shiver, we grasp, sometimes for air, or the secondary comfort of cotton lumps, remembering the people who broke the falls and supported the toll of life, a pillow cannot find you in your darkest days. Lay beside her, dine her, but do not love, as you may fright her, and all the comfort of clouds above will decide one day to shrug, a fall back to reality, but never beyond thyself and all the foundation missing from the first nail. Pale Ale, for a moment of clarity, and a morning of confusion, a gasp and sweat, last nights dream, a forgotten illusion, of what could have been or what could be, the aching rest of a full night of sleep.
Lost in an abortion, is the distortion, of reality, truth is fleeting from peers and sons, of those promised guidance by those whom are shunned. One day a prince, the next day a beggar, youth flutters away then dances in front, children someday, but tomorrow's a front, a game, a play, a feeling lost and found again, with every wrong emotion, or move, today's wife could be tomorrow's nightmare, and yesterday's love could be thy neighbor's bore, a whore, or the innocent girl next door, blossomed into perfection and left for dead twenty years or more, down the road where walkers are run over, by fast pace cars, of loud hums and rich bums, worried about the pedal without ever enjoying the ride.
Spit from beneath the wheels of the perceived stars are the scars, of those who tread lightly and patiently await, a fate which may never arrive. They trudge through the snow, and the bitter road, through chilling winds and endless loss, surviving on will, hope, and love, or warmth, or simply a sign from above, a wink or nod, praying to be told it is not all in vain. They walk over broken wills, and those who settled for fragmented rock, who lied then died, beaten to death by their own thoughts and failures, but if they just keep walking, they could discover comfort beyond their wildest dreams. They may be shot dead a step before the summit, only exclaiming and just for a moment, that it can be done.
The man on the road promises a safe arrival, and asks you to throw away your Bible, or whatever it is you grip closest to your heart, and for a safe return you will be showered in paper, when stacked high enough is like stone, shattering bone, severing the brain from the heart, and dreams from an eternal nightmare. You may only live once, and you may life forever, but you can never be certain, so drag on, walk alone if you must, but never be afraid to let another carry your forward, even if the last let you down, because easy paths are just an illusion, for the weak to be drawn in and finished quick. Break the line, do not fall before it, we all define, ourselves, and our steps will always stray from one another, and if they didn't, every step would lose it's meaning.
Never falter at the word of another, it's not a race but a trail, be aware, have the tortoise for dinner, and for breakfast, the hare, this leg's sinner could be the next one's saint...but walk on, you never know what awaits. You can only see what has failed but when you look down below, it is your feet you see...do you see?
It was once flat and had an end, and then it was round and you'd come back again, explanations of it all, through the thicket and the barriers, climb over the wall, never stop, never. Never itself it debated and proven, but the more you see, the more you see it's all woven, powers that be and powers unseen may stop your constant defeat in a moment, and inside the depths of the eyes of another, a story itself frozen forever, enthralled without meaning, it's a moment of truth, though the person holding that truth may run from their own, and on this day, you will know there was not one defeat, not one speck of remorse, and you will live forever, for better or worse.
