death and questions
Monday, May. 24, 2004 - 09:12

Death comes in quietly, caressing me like an old lover. It seeps in under the door, creeping across the ground, a palatable fog seeking to consume me as it chills my flesh. During the long nights it beckons with the promices of old things returned, old flames rekindled, old loves reuinted. It calls to me as I remember the past, calls me into that sweet oblivion of a sleep without dreams, without pain, without rejection, without disapointment. As I lay in the dark I can see the hand of death reaching over my life, its taint corrupting everything I hold dear, spreading like an oil slick over the rough waters of my existence, awaiting a spark to burst into flame.

Questions, always questions arise. Why does such confusion cloud every aspect of this life, a fog that hides the path from my view. Should I attempt and grasp what I desire, or should I let it drift further away for fear in attempting to obtain it, I might lose even sight of it. But that is the fear, that it will not return on its own accord. Faith must be had, because if it would not return on its own accord, then I will not have it at all

-Z-

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