I contemplate fully the life that I dare not lead. The view of the wide world outside my window. That self imposed prison of ever reliable security where the days of my life pass like calendar pages torn forth by the restless wind. Voices that will never reveal their true continence whisper amidst the restless rustle of dead leaves. I am a statue without the gift of a second glance. The best years have come and gone and passed me by. An infamy of my own doing.
But then whatever choice that could of been made would have turned out no different. Just wrapped up within commodious cigar leaves equally smoldering. I am after all a parrot to my baser impulses. A horse in a burning barn of unrepentant passions. Driven to my sense by every coming morning. Then driven mad once again by the sun’s reliable departure. Caught in the eagle’s lair of good graces.
That arrow shot forth in youth now discovered. Its rusting barb stuck in lead. A small undiscovered glade where noting intelligible need be said beyond the acknowledgement of the plain facts. Your fears having become your greatest secrets never revealed even at the end of life’s last breath. How pathetic that rattling disclosure of the finality of life. That one day sooner than expected all the lights in the universe must eventually go out.