Of Growing Weary

It' only a matter of time

these are the things we tell ourselves when we are alone, and needy. To stoke the fires that chase away the shadows of sadness. Our small, sad beacons in the shrouded mists of the world, where the shivers of unseen monstrosities set our flesh a-crawl, and color our nightmares in greys and crimsons. And through the years we crowd our tiny fires, lest they burn out, and us as well. We huddle and pray that another will find our beacon, and adding to one anothers, that we may seek to better beat the crawling darkness. The two to become one, light and warmth spilling ever brighter into the cold and shrouded emptiness.

We sit in our small circles of light, and we wait as the silent abyss swirls around us, peering into the darkness for another flame, consoling ourselves all the while. Some abandon their watch and succumb to melancholy, and soon their flames sputter and die, leaving them cold and hollow as the space around them. Others may wait an eternity of vigilance, finally spotting a small and distant light, coming towards them in the dark. Yet others still are far more fortunate, and need never fear the encroaching darkness, as destiny shines forth, bright and clear.

And as I watch the lights in the distance passing me by, and i grow weary of the watching, I could swear I see one beckoning nearer, and I struggle to remain vigilant, even as time sings her sweet lullaby, and my senses begin to slip.

 

"It's only a matter of time", I tell myself.

Because these are the things we tell ourselves, when we are alone, and needy.

Reviews

[Ashley Armstrong]

I liked reading this. Amazing imagery. Great job