Waiting Into The Night

Unhappy and insecure we patiently wait for hope to spring eternal. Pacing to and fro we strive to keep in step as the wind gently moves us about. Events beyond our control, we endure the time between pretending that our time of purpose has meaning. As we continue to create a mockery of ourselves we fully expect and demand that our believability never be called into question. Who would be so foolish as to stand at an abandoned bus stop and dare to be confronted with reality.

And so as we patiently endure the night of our ignorance we chase fitful dreams and watch helplessly as our imagination runs away from us. If idle hands are a sign of the devil what could be said of a mind which, sloth like in it's nature, just never seems to get us anywhere. Beyond the judgmental aversion to face ourselves we continue to hold court as each passerby comes into our sphere of influence. Marked for death, each continues to fade into the night carrying either a ray of hope or a conviction that we are not alone in our plight of desperation.

Holding still our thoughts by sheer effort, nothing changes and so the battle continues. Time in it's haste of going some where, any where, continues it's lust unabated and so captivated are we that our blindness takes the form of sight, keeping us busy in our impatience of weary travel.

There is not a road out which will lead us separate and apart from who or what we really are. There is not a destination which will not ensure our survival, our 'pre-destiny'. Pondering the imponderable, we glance at the bus stop sign and give life to fleeting thoughts of seeming unreality. What is real and what is unreal?

Locking horns in contradiction, we continue to do battle with ourselves. Another destination, another confrontation. Are we leading the foray or are we the pieces being moved upon the board of life? Looking around we wonder and in that effort we dive right back in. Victory is always at hand, is it not?