Days of His Discontent
Pruned blackberry bushes lay dying outside the fence partially blocking the neglected pathway from the wooden gate. Piercing thorns do not puncture with any less sensitivity being half-dead than alive. His eyes squint as if to hide remnants of a large swimming pool tossed carelessly aside in a crumpled heap. Far too many promises and hopes unfulfilled. Brittle and parched spikes of grass impart a demonstration of mindless abandonment. Obscurity paints a counterfeit picture. The effects of possessions left abandoned are mere symptoms of forthcoming collapse.
Time, what is it worth? It drifts across his vacant face as well as it does the decaying paint slivered window casing. Wrinkles mark time spent just as well as weathered wood crackles and chips away slowly over the years. How does he measure time if not by the day of his birth or some other supposedly meaningless celebration? Hope springs eternal! He waits for some worthwhile promises or responsibilities to take shape. Time well spent or wasted is still time. Yet, at the end, at the conclusion of his days, what will he say about his phase?
Stars burn endlessly in the darkness. Photons send him into eternity. In a universe that can never be measured: a place where there is no depth or height, is he not remembered here by his effects? Did he not give birth to smiles and laughter when he cooked oysters and prawns? Did he not make a brave attempt to comfort that awkward sadness within her? Did he not give birth to peace and stillness as he took her on the lake? There are those unforgotten guarded and cherished things that lay deep in the heart, placed lovingly in safekeeping like valued jewels in a pharaoh’s tomb. She will certainly question, how his acquaintances failed to remember him. Time, it will not stand still. It will creep along until one day he will stand at the edge of his world and wonder why it left him wanting.
He crouches in obscurity and indignity searching for answers that do not exist. His pride gradually stripped away like the drying paint on a windowpane. Slowly, his pride rips away until his soul lay bare. She understands his soul and weeps. If her tears could mend his wounds, there would be no need for lamenting too long. She deliberately lowers her head and ponders over faith. How long does faith take to play its part? What happens when faith turns into uncertainty? What happens when doubts arise like dust storms? Where will the path lead? She knows there are no easy answers, only time spent waiting.
Loneliness cries out in the darkness. She understands his cry. She prays for angel wings to caress him and keep him safe. What lesson is it that he needs to learn? God, help him learn it quickly.
She quietly speculates on the incomprehensible vision of what his or her path might look like had she not forced her way into his life. He never invited her there in the first place, but she believes things happen for a reason and there are no coincidences. This is her belief. She walks this journey and this is her story.
Written by: Beverley©
Picture: Old man_Rembrant
