Freezes in the mind… ice cold reality… inescapable… inexplicable… racing to escape the past as it never occurred- should have occurred. But where would you be?
Changes, it changes everything. Would you have your white picket fence? Or a single wooden crate? It is always the fence. Warm reality suggest the latter.
Frozen… Stuck to your reality, spite settles in to choke coherent present. Smothered to a fettered daze, you look longingly into your past’s what-ifs. They smile at you sweetly in mocking grace…
Where was I?… A “shade” from the past wanders the mind. There is no face but eyes to peer out from and a hint of a blurred nose to aim the site. Perfection… Flaws are given to the edges beyond peripheral. Light focus beautifies – sanctifies the vision. Godliness is attained by this shade for your mind…
The wooden crate has you. Ice cold reality rains down upon you. You shiver convulsively as you slowly open the gate to that white picket fence. Chills bring you to your knees as you reach the front porch. The roof of the porch covers your shivering skin with shade. The muted sun vanishes from your shaded eyes. The dread reign of reality settles in upon your gasping future.
Nothing but a wooden crate in a dark alley to call home.
-Originally written Monday, March 10th, 2003