In the time of my confession deep in the darkest hour of need, I can hear a dying voice coming from deep within me trying to reach out to somewhere. And I don’t have an inclination to be looking back at those mistakes I have made, and instead behold that chain of events I need to break. Trying to square those events and my not being there, as I try to hold back the river of tears that are now under foot, and try to look in your eyes. Wishing I could make you return as you walk through the door in time to the tolling of the bells, and you don’t seem to understand that the only thing I wouldn’t do is make you bleed.

Finding myself recalling when I leaned against a wall at the turning of twilight as I gazed out at that Temple of Life, and saw that angry flame of temptation burning in the doorway, and thought I heard it calling my name. Sometimes I hear what sounds to be ancient footsteps behind me causing me to turn and see in most cases it’s only me, and sometimes there is someone there like the pain of idleness and decay that sometimes linger.

The flowers of indulgence along with the weeds of yesteryear and other times past, have been like criminals and attempted to choke the breath of consciousness, as well as left subtleties to try and strangle me as I continued this journey on down the line. At times I thought I shook myself free as I took every day one at a time, and it might be to mysterious, or it’s just me being half delirious. But, then again old habits tend to die hard just like how old soldiers merely fade away.

Still we carry our choices, and hide as many of our regrets as we can, and we all know there is a price to be paid one day, and then we will square up and settle our debts. And have sat witnessing the bitter dance of loneliness that seems to fade into space deep in the sorrow of the night. With there being times when I think of changing from hiding all of me from you, as I seem to stand here watching those dreams that were once had falling through. That I carry in me like those broken thoughts I know won’t ever be repaired, as I remember nearly everything and has me ask what I might have become?

Being tired of living is easy to do, so some living needs to be done and Lord knows I have paid some dues out here on those nameless back roads, or that old Highway 61 which usually calls to me like a lover or an old friend. I know there are many here who think that life is merely a joke, or their pantomime, and think that they can tell the difference from Heaven and Hell. And I know those roads and Highway 61 like the back of my hands, so often have I heard their calls over the years.

I have joked once or twice that if I should ever die before my time that you bury out there on the side of either Highway 51 or its sister Highway 61. And then I won’t have to travel down them anymore and I will always be there when they call. Either I am just getting too sensitive or else I am just getting soft for thinking this way. But then again I have lived twice; once when I was born and the other when I looked Death in the face back in ’85. With not too many ever being able to say that, as I pass them by.

Copyright Timberwolf International LTD: January 2016 – 03