Drying Time
Posted on 2004-03-28
If a human spirit falls in the forest of despair does it make a sound???
The river of life that once coursed through my being, driving me ever forward and invigorating moment upon moment of my life has ebbed of late, and resembles the trickle of a drying brook.
For some time I have watched as the banks have dried and baked in the sun, been blown dry by autumn winds and then covered with the snow and ice of winter. They're dusty and bare now that spring is approaching.
Boulders; once the barriers directing the force of life's water, restraining it within its preset course, now rock in their places, wearing the sedimentary lines of fallen leaves and the marks of passing snails.
I grow weary of myself. Nothing but anger and a pain tortured frustration which resembles the surge of days gone by. Yet even that, today, fades and yields only a tear so transparent it isn't seen, and fades into cracked and broken dirt never existing.