The Open Door
He stood in front of the open door pacing upon down the fifth floor with hands rubbing into each other and eyes penetrating the hill. He was sending a silent message to universe to reverse the dreadful curse.
It is a curse that no one can see, it is embedded in the sixth century when the nature of man was as cold a ice and the mountain had to pay a bountiful sacrifice.
And here we are today, trying to roll the heavy burden away with bullets and machine guns and there is nowhere to run. Sometime it has the horse jumping prematurely out of the gate and the whistling toad buried underneath the bush knows the ages that come with the different phase.
It is the younger generation that is impacted the most; they still cannot understand what this thing is all about, strange things are transpiring around them and the heavens are flooded with stories of mankind leisure’s and his ancestor sorrows.
The legend still stands strong of how the bounty came along. They were raiders of the temple and fishermen for the living devils; they prowl the mountains at nights and raid the village, slaughter the men and raped the women and buried the children alive.
They walked round with long beard and giant cigar sticked out at side of their jaws; their rancid whisky breath and moldy, sweaty, smelling clothes clinked to their backs and their budging eyes, lights up in the dark as the climbed down slowly from the mountain shouting profanity in their heads.
See him pacing in front of the door; he is waiting on the alibi to get him to the shore. His face looks grim and his body is thin, he seems to be losing his mind from the altitudes he has climbed.
The door is opened wide and you can walk right in with pride and make your statement.
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