Arrested in Spirit

A life full of could-have-beens that still could be but won't. Agonizing doubt and anxiety stifle and smother while the heart weeps with frustration. Stagnant pools collect, solidify and desiccate, becoming one with the landscape. I stand eager on the newly-solid earth.

And yet...

The pen stops short in the face of greatness, envies what has come before and tries to hide its inadequacy. The box grows smaller with each useless habit perpetuated and every vital chance missed. I keep the shades down so as not to see where others have gone with their time, while I bide mine waiting for a chance. A grace, a sun ray makes its way in in a moment of revelation.

And yet...

Infinite silent debates stay the course, but not the footfalls of passing time. I am the dry gust blustering and the lush glade it chastises; spiteful and ineffective, fertile and vivid. Concentrating on confusion do I step in time with a hollow waltz. Meaningless angst and silly qualms punctuate the road of me, the road of discarded and decaying whimsy.

And yet...

A drop leaks through, a thought escapes the dam and dashes alone out into the dry riverbed. I chase it down with a paper towel, but this one evades me and shows itself to the world: Here I am! I exist! Liberate me from this tired bastion, that I might smile once more...

And yet...

I cry out, for a secret has been spilled. Here, finally, an uncensored mediocrity is immortalized for everyone to see. All paths forking forward can be followed back to this origin, and I curse the day for humbling me before myself; and yet... the path indeed forks forward.