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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I wonder what he was thinking, the man mounted on a stool, with his elbows resting on the bar, eating a Big Mac and sipping coffee from a McCafe coffee cup. The outside view he was watching through the glass wall is the flickering lights over the parking lot and the sounds of galloping horses on the road. As usual, among those galloping horses, some may be carrying today, which is heavier than the day, on his aching back, while others run with full speed looking forward to a better tomorrow; yet, there is a horse, like one of the remnants of a defeated army who fought the difficult battle where there is no today, no tomorrow, but struggle after struggle of dogfight and defeat, dragging his feet with a heavy burden. Since there is no color or outline of an object in the dark you are unable to distinguish one horse from the other, such as the high-spirited grand Shire, the tiny amiable Falabella, the gracefully elegant Akhal-Teke, or the Mule, born to carry heavy load till dies. That’s why the darkness is beautiful, it doesn’t have a color like the death; yet, it’s not comparable to the darkness of the grave because it’s only the flip side of the day. It will drag you into the light, compel you to see the sun in the morning. As coffee gets colder, the smell of coffee goes away, and further, the taste of coffee becomes bitter with elapsing time. Then, from the empty feeling of missing something, he bites into the hamburger held in his hand and hears the “moo…” the last cry of a sorrowful cow dragged into a slaughter house. Though death is, beautiful if it’s accompanied by a dirge, the moment of death by force is, although the soul may be lighter than a feather, a lot heavier than the weight of the world.
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