I once stood on the precipice of a new world. Looking down on the unimaginable. The rolling hills of possibility spread out beneath me, and instead of leaping forward I fell asleep. You watched me close my eyes. My shallow breath feeding me stale air. Vivid reality obscured by the immense fog of doubt. I crumbled against the wind. Afraid to make that first step. When I was told I could fly, I only thought of falling. I buried my knees in the dirt, and now you wait. I would dig myself out if my eyes would open. They hurl themselves back towards the black of the socket. I wait for my next breath. I wait for the sky to clear itself. Content with the mundane. My hands turn black as the rot sets in. They lay idle ready to finish nothing. The plague gnawing away at dead flesh that once held vibrant color. I am weightless but for the boulder that sits on my chest driving me down towards tedium. Seemingly eternal, internal conflict. A struggle against patience. What will you do when you see how I do nothing?
(Written March 3, 2010)
