AdamJD

My 4 Seasons

  I step outside of my perspective for a while.  I see the darkness sprawled across my path.  I’m up to my knees in muck, tripping but somehow still laughing, still singing.  An empty verse followed by a sincere chorus, then another lifeless verse.  I see uncommon faces.  They feed on my pain.  They arrive to see what I’m running from, to see why I’m in this pit.  They want to hear the names and deeds of those from whom I’ve run so they can be pulled into the pit as well.

I see the tapestry, I see the photos in my wallet, I see the people I’ve loved and the things I’ve accomplished…  the scars and the strength.  Suddenly I realize I’m looking at nothing.  Bones with melted hanging flesh.  Demon’s eyes glaring back at me.  A starved soul, griping for more poison to swim in and to drink.  A wasted life in utter agony. 

I hammer my eyelids together and open them again.  I see a child.  I see an eagle with the wind holding it in the air, clothed in natural beauty, soaring high above the pit, above the muck, above the reasons to crawl into darkness.  I see a smile.  I embrace the smile and call it my own.  Then I see arrows.  They cut through my wings and I fall.  I become a human again as I fall.  I break my back as I land in the pit.  This time I inhale the muck, looking up at the archers standing proud over me. 

I try it again.  I open my eyes to a field, far away from the pit.  I’m standing next to a tree and a creek.  The thin fingers of grass come up to my chin.  I hold my hand in front of me to keep them from tickling me.  Again I see a smile.  This time I see the outline of the cheeks and face.  I call out to it.  The mouth opens, but the voice is too faint.  As I run towards the voice, suddenly a massive crowd appears behind me, also chasing the voice.  I climb the tree, leaving the crowd behind.  I would be able to hear the voice if it wasn’t for the crowd.  Now they ask me to come down, to join them.  I can’t escape.  The commotion grows and the smile in the sky fades away.  When I climb down from the tree, the crowed feeds me with food and stories.  Every day I wake up in a different place.  A week after living with the crowed, I wake up in the pit, covered in muck yet again.  I’m dead again.  My corpse walks through the muck looking for more poison again.

I snap my eyes once more.  I can’t give up.  I’m in the muck still, but no tapestry, no pictures in my wallet, nobody loved, nothing accomplished, no scars or strength.  I see hands rising from the muck, lives soon lost.  Those who ran into the muck, those who fell into the muck and those who woke up in the muck.  I notice a shovel in my hand.  As I start digging people out, I see the smile again.  I see the cheeks and the nose.  I see the chin and the ears.  I see the eyes.  They fill me with energy.  I keep digging.  I’m not getting tired.  The hands migrate towards me.  The crowd looks at me from the cliff of the pit in disgust.  The hands grab me, desperate for salvation.  They begin to pull me under.  I look to the face smiling at me in the sky.  It speaks words that I don’t understand, but they empower me even more.  I find satisfaction in this.  It’s better than soaring in the air.  It’s better than walking through the fields.  Only because the voice sings to me.  This is life.  It’s not what I expected, but I’ll keep my eyes open this time.