He’s a policeman, a soldier, a programmer, a farmer, a murderer, a priest and a politician. He is anything that he wants to be. He’s a salesman by day and an author by night.
On this very still night, I am thinking of you. In my mind’s eye, I can almost see you sleep, yet there is a sadness that binds us together. Not so much a sadness as a melancholy. Not so much a bond as a unison, a oneness, a…it’s difficult to explain.
May the soft whisper of my heart touch yours. May the peace that I know surround you and become yours. May the miles I have traveled bring you comfort, knowing that tomorrow’s road will be filled with joy.
I can’t hear the ticking of the wall clock anymore because the years have dulled my hearing, but I know it’s still counting down the seconds left in my life. It is as tenacious as a bird on a June bug, as haunting as Edgar Allen Poe’s Raven. It’s just as well that I can’t hear the reminder that time is running out. All of my friends are getting older. Heck, even the kids are getting older.
I wish I’d found this place earlier in life. There is only one thing I would change though. I wouldn’t own any clocks. They make no sense and all they do is hurry you along.
The world’s insatiable lust for blood wine ever and again compels the poet, the artist, the creator to a life of monastic solitude. Thus, the fair song of the eremite is only heard by One.
Nestled safely in a quiet place where no one knows and no one can see, serenity. Eyes closed and heart open to the softness of your love, serenity. You come to me when I come to you, serenity. Gently cradle my weary soul and carry me to a far away land, serenity. There in your arms will I find rest and peace, serenity.
How do you capture destiny with words? How would you rewrite it if you could, if it were even possible? Would it be a sonnet, a single sentence, a short story or a sacred scroll? When we see destiny unfolding before our eyes, we are powerless to change it because that’s just the way things are meant to be.
Or is it?
Are men born with a predetermined path they must walk, a song they must sing, a life they must lead, a death they must embrace? Is there an immutable rhythm of the heart that leads a person to his destiny, some incurable madness in the soul that chisels away at reason until there is nothing left but a blind following, an unquestioning obedience?
If I could rewrite my destiny, I am not quite sure how the story would end, but if I could rewrite yours, you would live a long, prosperous life, filled with love, happiness and many grandchildren.
I always could see better for you than for myself.
