To run, or to face?
Oh I’ve seen enough . . .
And we are mere specks . . .
Empty dreams, empty lives.
An arduous path, fate has set before me. The kind which relentlessly taxes my spirit and has begun to slowly erode the very seams of my sanity. The deafening cries inside my mind keep me awake and the deception, lies and manipulation have made their mark on my thoughts. The decision to forgive and not seek retribution has now weakened the once willful patient man. They say that those who leave such matters to faith and goodwill eventually find peace.
Does the father, who withdraws; not because of the unending repression by the ruffians hiding behind their false agenda, but due to his deliberate choice of not separating his daughter from her mother, not deserve better? Or would it have been wiser for him to have unleashed his wrath until he could have had her in his arms? On this path, I have found that a father who withdraws for the sake of his child has a love far greater than the one who does not. I would have never forgiven myself, for letting you be used as leverage by those who sought mischief. I left you in God’s care and I hope you have the same heart as me for you will need it to climb out of the moral-less abyss.
I could write a hundred words, to express how much I miss you and how I long to see you, yet when I start, there is little I can muster. So, for this Father’s Day, I managed to get a painting made for you which I hope holds true to the adage; a picture is worth a thousand words. May you always be happy and healthy and may you always choose the right path, no matter how hard it gets. May you find peace through morality, like I did.
To my Daughter;
What do you think about your existence now?
Can you measure a soul? Can you even see it?
What do you see?
There is always something that is hurting and consuming us from within – something that we cannot share with the world. We are always bleeding quietly . . .
Mahofon clambered down the last of the cliff-face. To his estimation, it must have been a sixty-metre drop, but with such unchanging weather, safety could be gathered through time. There is little risk or rain, he mused, otherwise these smooth rocks could have been fatal. He held a staff as he descended, a twisted green cedar intertwined with a single, smooth brown branch. It concluded, at the end, with a purple eye. As he touched the floor of the ravine, he gazed out across the new plain that stretched before him. I have merely descended the step of a giant’s staircase, he thought. It was a vast ravine, and the rocks found now in the basin were smoothed. He ran and caught up with the remainder of the group that had gathered away from the giant’s step, “retreating from the dangers of falling rock” as Mombulu had stated.
The troop began to erect a camp. Several tents crafted from a rough hide were placed on polls high, and pegged down. The fall of Dulkatra’s hammer could be heard amidst the general chatter that had gathered from the others, and, of course, the incessant wind. He was pressing the pegs into the ghastly ground. The sun set behind them as others ventured to collect wood. Its final rays were snuffed out by the step they had taken, and a pile of tortured wood was formed at the center, now in almost complete darkness. Mombulu called Mahofon over, and requested a flame from his staff. Unlike Cescar’s own staff, Mahofon’s blinked now with the request uttered. Mombulu stared somewhat worriedly at the staff – he often wondered if it could feel.
Mahofon strolled up to the firewood, and with a small utterance of his own, the dead wood spluttered into new life. Flames licked the heavens and embers danced among the dark expanses before falling back to the brown soil. He retreated somewhat, and sat on the outskirts of the flickering light. The exhaustion of the day caught up to him now; his legs almost collapsed under the aches of marching.