I spoke with my shadow the other day and wondered what would life be like on the other side and would those people carry their pride not above their heads nor below their belts but inside themselves, hearts ready to burst unto the ground, sowing seeds for a new generation when degradation could not exist in actions, but instead in fractions of discarded souls empty as a coffee cup and the woman refilling it to pay her bills. And would that then fill our eyes with a flowering hope, or would it merely stagnate in the years to come on a rabbits' run to salvation; our condensation of dreams reserved for our declining. . .our reminding of penny pill-popping heart-stopping mind-dropping numbness? Would it then be alright to spend a night cradled by the moon, humming some coy tune back into our childrens ears, chase away their midnight fears or bask in our own tears? Would our 'don'ts' become 'musts' again and again until we're back to dust falling from heaven's gate to reiterate the sound of a child's wail and the everlasting American trail; the pursuit of life, liberty, and a semi-automatic shooting static to overwhelm every brain, driving away all thats sane to an unknown plane in the fifth dimension, seeking replention of ourselves? For just this moment, I'll swallow my pride and imagine that world, on the other side.
