Internal Conflict: Choices

A man struggles with an internal conflict and comes to a realization of his life and behavior.

As I took in the scent of the rain,

standing on the corner.

A slight, damp breeze rustling through the night.

The Slow, mournful, wail of the midnight train

invaded my thoughts.

I was beside myself.

Was there a way out? I pled in vain.

Forlorn and gloomy,

yet a beautiful respite.

Oh, the wretched,

oh, the hungry.

This dalliance of delight is mine, my own.

Strolling in time to shallow reverberations of my heart,

I gazed up at the darkness for an eternity,

not a thought to where I might be headed.

the wind my caretaker, the cold my comfort.

a tear, sliding down my face.

This is the place,

this is me.

What I've meant to find,

could not be found,

and what I've found,

is not profound.

A simple pleasure,

in a simple time,

ordinary,

devoid of practicality,

space, and all that goes with it 

is grasped by thought,

and a conceding of the mind.

    As he slumps defeated, for no reason, on a wet bench in the mist, the man reaches into the deepest well of life that he knows. All too familiar, his past memories go streaking by in the form of a silent film in the night sky. Sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, with clenched fists in anger and also folded hands in reverence. He has had quite the journey. Soaked to the bone, and cold with no home, he begins to unravel what went wrong, and, also, what went right. It is a keen moment in this man's life, quite interesting to say the least. He has never felt so low, but yet he sees the beauty in the sorrow, the silver lining to this tragic tale. He never understood love or laughter and couldn't stand small talk. But what this fortunate man did understand, was choice. Choice to live or die by the decisions he has made. The Choice to hang it all in this world and fade away as an unknown. And the choice to believe in a way out. He understands the challenge that life presents; a perpetual struggle of innovation and adaptation to deal with the sopping wet, weeping-dark hours that has been handed his way. He has the right to choice, and no one can take that away. Standing up in the storm, doffing his cap to the night, he strides with purpose toward the future. A Small stroke of his that he found power in this moment. A very real power indeed.

Reviews

[Wavesnotwar]

i really like the imagery and the flow of the piece, i think everyone can relate to parts of it. "All too familiar, his past memories go streaking by in the form of a silent film in the night sky."- my favorite line