My Quiet

I stare - a sightless man - into space. Some time ago, the fire quietly failed in my eyes. I draw dead breath through weary lungs. My blood curdles in my veins. And I am cold. And alone. And it is quiet. Just what I've been desiring so desperately. Not to sing or dance or laugh or converse of the fleeting joys of life- but to be left to my own confused designs. My tale is not unique. Like countless artists gone before, I create without genuine hope of being understood. Except by you, O God. My omniscient creator. Was it really such a fine idea to fashion me? What have I done with the gift of life? How can any future worth seeing be built upon this failed foundation? This confused, self-tortured, hypocritical, weak, pathetic shadow? Even now, hope remains, somehow. Why it stays I do not know. By all rights it should abandon me. Have I not abandoned myself long ago? O, my God- I ought to have changed the world for you. But now I have my quiet. 2024-10-27 finished by 3:20 PM