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Choices of Hope
His mean bulging eyes stare at me from behind the screen, and from the look on his face you could see that he has been meddling with my midnight dreams, for twelve long hours he penetrates the screen with the dark side of his soul and flattery breaks through the precipice that lies behind the door and I felt a cold air running over my skin.
It’s an assignment not everyone would take, to watch the universe before the day breaks, yet he takes pleasure in watching me and his countenance is far from forgiving.
His sharp mean smile enrage the darkness in the sky and the hair on his head is always flying, what have I to do with him? nature is always listening and my subdued spirit restrain me from punching the screen.
I lay bare in the transition of time and I was determined to retrieve what is rightfully mine , my stolen youth and my fortune that he robbed when he escaped through the middle passage with a dozen bags.
Everything was in them and fortunes that worth more than what is in heaven; the diamond , silver gold and ruby jewelry, and gold bars to fill the cemetery and half a dozen bags staked with paper money. Oh how it aches my heart to re-call those seditious memories.
He sucks the life out of tree and packed the root with stones before he escaped from the town; all my job appointments were buried into a hole and all phone calls and text message were diverted to someone else phone.
I did not hear or read anything about them and I worried that I would be forgotten and so I grasp my focus on something positive everyday so that my life doesn’t waste away.
I felt boxed away in a corner with hundreds of boxes packed upon me and I am trying to come out but someone has already made the choices for me and I have no control over it.
I looked at the flashing light beyond the hill and I am trying to make my spirit still but my heart was raging and something underneath was blazing and for one brief moment destiny stares at me, and a soft voice from behind the tree said, “it’s not your time yet, they will have to go and you have to document the show, your life span is long and you will compose a multitude of songs”.
The voice faints and the ground shakes and a ravening wind sweeps through the trees. The moment passes quickly and I have no control over my destiny; it is the unknown that troubles me; and the choices that they make cause my head to ache.
The places that I want to be are the ones that they cannot see, and the people I would like to be with are not the ones living around me; it's hard to be happy when you live with other people’s choices.
I could have written a thousand books if I had a place to cook, I could have built a thousand houses and multi- cooperation and industries if that man was not following me around and continue to pierce the dirty arrow in my innocent soul.
Thanks to the kind people that came along to rescue me from their promiscuous songs; they have no rhythm and they cannot sing, the choices that you make can elevate you or send you out the gate
I have journeyed from the past and escape from the dark and all of them are dead and their bodies are buried in hell, and those that are still alive cannot cross my path, they cannot meddle with my choices for I have finally mastered the delicate Art.
Choices of hope rests at the corner of my soul.
Copyright ©
Christine Phillips
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