I play the game, just like I feel I should and rail at the rules that are tried to be imposed on me. But, it seems as if there are times that my whole world slowly slips away, and I wear around my neck that silver medal that was given to me by a brother in all meanings of the word. To help me keep my faith and acts as a charm to change things thrown at me and to disarm all the harm that might be inflicted, when directed at me. For I know that feeling when you’ve tried to make your way out from those complicated shadows, and the feeling that nothing mends.

Dealing with forceful aging, and dealing with the feeling I might need help with the feeling that I am slowly fading away. Making me realize that it’s time to move on with those lessons I have learned in this Vale of Tears known as life. With those things we never say and hold inside being a lot better off most time being left alone. As I look to the dark horizon for the harvest moon knowing it’s all up to me to make the changes needed, and time is the space between all things.

And for most of my life I have been told that I will be nothing when I am old, with all the kicks and blows received having become those scars I carry that the sun’s dark light wouldn’t or couldn’t heal. Which are rarely seen except by those who have a need to know. It’s the age old story with hearts separating, flames burning out, and all of this has happened before and all of it will happen again. Causing a heart made of steel to begin to grow. Making me stronger than they will ever know; for when you have been fighting for your dreams all of your life, it becomes something a part of you that has been worked for every day and every night.

All the hate, and lies, that are told along with the crocodile tears they cry can cause those silver sparks ignite the fire in my eyes that can be like jungles burning bright. Just knowing what I got and not caring how they think I took what they dealt from a stacked deck, and believing in myself almost as much as I doubt myself. Taking each day as they come hour by hour and turning the pain that’s given into strength and power from each hit that’s fallen blow by blow.

So would you call me a saint or a sinner, and would I be a loser or a winner? I know at times when I see my face in the mirror on the shelf I can feel myself shiver when I see the lines on my face becoming deeper and clearer. I know that the past is gone, and it passed by like the dawn turns to dusk, or like some sort of a speeding bullet train. So I hold on and say yes while those others drink deeply from those rivers of blindness or whirlpools of lies and say no.

Standing here as I say goodbye in the pouring rain, and breaking down as I slowly walk away to make my way back down the line. With there being those times when I truly feel that I don't need this life, and I miss those years that were erased, and having been left to me only the events that happened. As I recall passing by the dark courtyard in the North and heard one of the jesters who lives there telling a thief; that there must be some way out of here. Finding that I agree with that conversation I overheard, and there are many here who think that life is nothing more than a joke, and at times a killing joke.

Copyright Timberwolf International LTD: November 2015 – 15