where the writers are
A Writers Labyrinth: Drifting
Beginning your day on your knees with your hands clasped before you and your head bowed down is a positive start.

Shadows and more shadows, ghost from the past that haunt me day and night. Like a forgotten fountain in a valley beyond redemption I have again been abandoned and left for dead. There are no answers. My ways are tried, tested and fail before my eyes because they do not meet any rules.  My conscience is disturbed by my lusts and the cries from my heart, yet am I overshadowed by my hope that it is only another day, another bad day that could change with faith and hope. Words, oh words! How have I hated you in my cell! I have known plenty, said many yet failed to make any impact when I needed them most! Where is my soul? Where are my visions, where is the strength that guided me to this place? I have fallen and continue to drift like the rivers of the earth. There are rats in my kitchen, breadcrumbs strewn on my carpet. I am covered in dust, seaweed from the fruits of my hopelessness. Time moves like a gorge, disowning everything in its path. Cry I say, cry I wish, yet there are no tears from me. I am all cried out, all dried up. Remember the old days I say. Remember Rome, the richness of the sun, the music in the hall ways and the treasures that surrounded your soul. Remember good times, remember when all meant so much and yet was so little. Does any of it mean anything now? Why should it as I have fallen step by step into a well of sin. I have been coaxed by my own wisdom, guided by the misfortune of a wisdom blinded by other wisdoms. The land is barren, and I hesitate at all doorways, unable to knock, so many reasons why not to do so and many few ones for doing so. Which side of the coin do I fall on? If the past was anything to go by then I would recollect that I had failed so many more times before yet had I been chosen to walk on the path that today brings me to this place. It was not by choice, it was what happened. So why the questions, why the lack of energy, why the emptiness? Friends, that say much but do little, are these people real? I hear their voices but see the shadows and weakness in their hearts. Should I call it darkness? If I did, would I be judged on grounds that I am not nice? How can one see darkness and call it light? How can one see ignorance and call it warmth? What have we become where the words we use are not reflections of our thoughts? Everything is in boxes, separated by rationales. Each trend of thought has to be processed like the machines that have been made to kill our imaginations. We have succumbed to rules in society that are made for computers and for the law. But what law is it that offers no comfort to a man when he sees darkness in the soul of another?


     What a waste. I take out my weakness on others and blame them for my own incompetence because I cannot find my spirit and the voice that guided me to this place. Even this self judgment proves nothing!! I rebel against all laws and oppose each passage as none holds the answers of the voice that guided me to where I have come to be. Oh! How I wish my cries could be heard, how I wish my cries could be recognized. Those where the times, the days when the importance of being me meant that whatever I did meant something to me! Did I do any of it myself or is it still the blindness in me talking.

     Concentrate I say, concentrate and find your purpose. There is something you are not seeing. Yet am I drifting, unable to make sense of it all but continue on my path stricken of everything except hope in the Lord. If I make it through today it would be a miracle.