Crying in the rain and feeling the pain from it raining stones and knowing all those memories and things I have seen will soon be washed away, and finding myself staring into space. And now looking at those mist covered mountains in the distance past those fields of destruction, where baptisms in fire were received. Where I witnessed suffering by some as the battles of life took their toll along with fear, yet I never deserted you in the darkness when it attempted to take its toll.

Now with the moon riding high I bid some farewell as it is written in the stars that everyone must die one day, wondering if faithfulness will be rewarded for those I fought for and defended in some way? When the darkness begins to fall I can hear those voices that haunt me when I try to sleep making me wonder if it is either someone I let down or left behind in some way. Having seen the suffering in your eyes that hides the blues when they descend and walk on through, and I tried to never let you down and I know that the truth will always shine through.

Hoping that there is no suffering but the pain is taken and converted to strength and power, and when the bridge collapses and you are called out you stand your ground, by giving it all you have and fighting the good fight. Taking every second life throws at you and with the power in you that grows you can swear that you attempted to do it all and raise your fist in defiance and swear that you lived, while avoiding those obstacles they put in your way.

Still there are days when I feel as if I am losing my faith, and it seems as though ice water runs through my veins and would I be called a saint or a sinner? For I seem to be all used up and those surrounding fields have all turned brown and sometimes it seems as if I have never existed. Some have given me one look and then passed judgment and said that I am out of control, but then again there have been too many people around that I don’t recall and to some I have said fare thee well and not given a damn as I made my way down the line. And then again they don’t seem too aware that reality is like a hydra and has many heads.

Somehow I seem to be able to hear them all, even from the deserts where they are wandering like prophets and praying for Heaven’s benevolence. Along with the sound of tearing pages and the sound of burning paper, that those fools who falsely hail as freedom when the rain brings down nothing but burnt paper and ashes, as the crimes and acquisitions are wiped out. So as they sit and look to the skies and whistle Dixie they are unaware that some things they can never kill.

Still I know we both must cross that green mountain with memories lingering both sad and sweet, and looking back and seeing that ravaged land that goes for miles behind us as we follow the stream. Taking only those lessons from life that weren’t learned in a day and knowing that the world is old and grey. As I find myself standing on a ridge watching and waiting, as the notes of music comes from a far better land.

It’s the last hour of the last day, with the unknown being near as glory rots, and pride vanishing. While virtue will always live on and never be forgotten. It feels part of me and still apart from me, in some way as I looked deep in the eyes of my merciful friend, and ask myself if this is truly the end?



Copyright Timberwolf International LTD: January 2016 – 01