I turn, my eyes sweeping over the landscape. My wet eyes are riddled with an unmistakable sadness; a sort of soft, tender mourning for all that has past. Those times, people, places that have passed through my fingers like falling sand, each grain a memory that was, but will never be again. Time unwinds. Creeps and flies, but always passes. Sometimes too fast and often unbearably slow.
My foot moves forward, moving to keep me from toppling over, moving my languid body through the yellow grasses and scrubby shrubs below. This walk I make alone without those who’ve propped me up, lifted my head to show me the path, guided my feet so that I might not falter and squeezed my outstretched hand tightly with a tender touch of compassion.
I see it ahead and hesitate. A stubbed toe, a splinter entering my eye. Simulacrum of my coming demise, telling me to turn around; go back home it instructed. But no. I shall always walk forward to tomorrow. Intrepid and timid me always thinking, pondering will not back down. Why, what resolution they’ll say.
I turn, and suddenly my view has changed. Towering mountains loom to the West, a reminder of vistas and valleys crossed and fully consumed whilst triptrapseeing across God’s good green Earth. A step back, a slight stumble, though one without concluding demise for I managed to spring forward again and jump headfirst into the river ahead. Such cold water! with its sonorous waves sliding past each other in their sensual cycle of death and rebirth, creating the life of this wide river, one with strength enough to devour this young lad. I gaze around as the current sweeps me downstream, high canyons dug by the years of passing water surround me; they block the fading sun, though I’m not in complete darkness.
Tossing, turning, no longer fighting the fierce currents, I make my way to the surface for air, water filling my lungs until they explode in a spasmodic wave of forgotten memories. A lull, before the allegro finale. An empty vessel, I crawl to the shore and pull myself from the cool, sliding waves. On the shore I sit, thinking, looking, pondering, my mind wandering, wondering.
I inhale the crisp air and shudder for a moment before proceeding onwards; this long journey has consumed me, become my everything, and I intend to see the ending.
I see technical writing class has given you some true insight to the human condition ;) But seriously, Andy that's a great piece. You should submit it to some publishers. Also, you might like to check out the newsletter for NPR's Writer's Almanac: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/
Well... unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that whatever her name was would have given me poor marks for this. Breaking those grammer rules, ya know. But yeah, thanks! I wasn't sure what people'd think of this.
Also, thanks for the Writer's Almanac link, most definitely enjoyed the poem they posted today.