The impasses that we come to are surprising.
There is slowly nothing left to catch us off guard.
Someday there will only be left the known, and the fear of the unknown will be conquered.
On that day we will breathe no more and our eyes will shut.
The light will be gone from our being.
The end of our days is coming short and knowing we are finite is comfort.
How much of this distorted and lost and violent world can a man take?
My soul is filling up with disaster and despair. No struggle is going to make me right.
Determined not to let my destruction be the legacy I leave I flail about in the night.
My torment is only beginning because I know that in the trial I am purged clean.
I will be twisted and turned over. I will be squeezed and bashed and battered and thrown.
I will be broken. I will be broken even though I am already shattered. I will become pieced together in the end.
I will be cobbled together to form some colonial road; made perfect by all the years of being walked upon.
The language I use will be long forgotten and the words I say will never be translated.
I will vanish into the history of man and no one will ever know I was on this earth. My steps will be erased and my memory will fade.
I am no hero; there is no substance here that should become part of the annals of time.
