In Marked Territory

When testing time invades profoundly my private space I build a wall to protect the sanctum of the inner woods, create a captive cocoon of imposed isolation for the soul to be preserved in the bliss of insulation. I become a lone prisoner of my own making, behind the wall of false sense of volatile pride. I find the world disappear beyond my guarded garden, take away the fragrance of flowers I see blossom. I’m caught in the dichotomy web of entangled confusion, whether to break the wall or stay secluded within. When time comes to travel to the sinking skyline, the instinct of self-preservation dwindles in debris. As the wall encloses the shattered senile sagacity, I see the sensual sequins in the last rays of the spent sun, drizzle through the confined thicket’s chromatic canopy, from the free sky where my soul seeks to fly like a bird. The twilight time is tinged by the hues of the horizon, sinking within the hazy strata of the discontent dust. With the cornucopia of the longing life unlived, I etch the Rubicon line walking the last mile. The defining moments within the marked territory, design the innate paradigm of emotional epitome. Awareness assures that the die is not yet cast, crossing the conscience line would defy self-actualization. Stopping at the boundary stimulates spiritual sensitivity, ameliorates the pain of existential predicament, saves the psyche from the clasp of evil’s embrace, and in insecurity mayhem unfolds the divine leitmotif.