There is a poet in every man, as well as a joker, as well as a creature who loves a good game of poker,
The cases of hope used against us are the cards against humanity, the cautionary tales left by those brave enough to face them, and pen them into existence, make them less scary for those who are wary to make the journey into the unknown themselves.
It’s those I’ve looked to time and again when my existence begins to feel like an unraveling yarn not worth yawning about…
The vanity that nothing can touch me is what will separate and end me.
Pride will bend me in the end to a knee less befitting the soul I’ve been given.
Without integrity, I’m a knight with no armor, left defenseless,
to busy protecting myself to take good care of anyone else.
Ironically, though against all logic,
humility is freeing, relieving me of the duty to guilt, no need to defend the places I’ve been,
when the journey is between my creator and me when I’m at my best I see the poetry,
A tragedy is an opportunity for growth, as much as it is an inevitability,
Once I get over the ‘poor me, why me’ routine, I realize that it isn’t about me really,
though all the keys to understanding have been placed before me in the form of little curiosities specifically catering to my needs.
At my best, I let these lead, and on my less inspired days, I view them begrudgingly.
Writing grounds me, it’s profound to see life through the eyes of a creator, suddenly so many characters depend on my ability to depict them properly, and let their prescribed natures lead me to the final scene we both see as inevitable. Sometimes I find myself hoping their actions will change my mind, allow me to find an alternate ending allowing them to keep their life in the storyline.
Funny what miracles and plot twists enthusiastic characters can inspire.
Watching them marching through the unknown on the wings of adventure, a search for a truth of some kind, makes me feel like I have no choice but to pursue mine.