Once more I write, to no avail. My mind and heart weighing heavily upon me. I want to rest, want to be without toil for a time. No fear, no hurt, no thoughts. My soul needs rest.
I watch the things, places and people around me, watch as they all interact with one another.
I look back upon my past and reflect upon my life. Pain, in all directions, moments of joy spattered about. Anxious stretches lay abound, hurt sadness, oppression to and fro I see my life. Torn by anger, sadness, and depression.
I look at my past, and present and wonder about my future. Will there continue to be more of the same, despite my efforts, and those of others to change the pain I hold, to transform it to strength and happiness? Will things change, and if so for better or worse?
A battle rages inside of me, a medieval primal world of hurt. Heroes embody emotions, generals of their respective armies. All meeting to do battle upon the fields of my soul, a bloody massacre of myself from within.
No hope of aid sits on the horizon as clouds grow foreshadowing the oncoming storm. The on-looking hordes of soldiers waiting for the first crash of lighting to signal the battle of mud and blood. The calm before chaos.
I’m certain, at least a part of this tumultuous existence shows through my eyes. Yet none seem to see, thinking me normal, happy and free.