So Be This

Let it not be said that the moment of the voice is lost. The words that find their space in the cataclysms of this unfortunate space we call real lack the need to be here. We throw our limbs to the calling of the wind and hope they find a place amidst its mannerisms. In the transient freedom they find I can only grovel. May they echo off the walls, and find the voice that screams in harmony with it. There is countless beauty in its triumphs and suffering. It is born from the unequal interplay of taking breath and forcing it from your body. If only for a moment things can sound sweet. Let that not dissolve admits the bitterness of being alive. I have no great wisdom to lay before you. I know no great truth  I only hope you understand that the great moments of sadness can only be understood in relation to the horrific pains we are forced to endure by waking into this un-dream like world. It is bound by history and the guilt and regret that accompany the capacity to remember. There is no tabula rasa that will allow you a new life. New places may provide respite from the external, but your life live within you. No action can be retaken, no past unwritten. What we have done will stain the unfortunate flesh, that we can do nothing to change. At least we have that, the failing and its lessons. So I ask you, as my fellow sufferers, scream with the brilliance that only your voice can concoct, and tell the world that what you are cannot be silenced. Maybe then, if only for a moment, you can be free.