There is no calm before the storm.
This tempest is neverending. These brief moments of peace are only that.
I am the pupil, swollen by too much light, staring up into the fickle sun.
I still reside within the storm. On the horizon, I see the dark spinning clouds as they draw near to envelop me again.
I have been a sower of the wind.
I have cast my dreams like seeds into the blistering sky.
Now I must succumb to what I have become.
I am the whirlwind reaper.
Eternity was in your grasp.
Yet you chose the knowledge of good and evil to break your fast.
Freedom of choice was wasted.
Now you act as if the fruit of that other tree was never tasted.
The serpent bites your heel.
You try but can’t outrun the poisonous god to which you kneel.
Bow your weary head.
You thought you chose life but worship intolerance instead.
I refuse to give you permission to take me there.
If you do violence to me I will not retaliate.
If you are rude to me I will be kind.
If you cut me off I will let you in and I will smile.
I will pray for you.
This is my sit down (and meditate) strike.
I am getting off this wild, angry ride and I am not getting back on.
You can keep your bitter horses.
I’m sure you’ll keep swinging by, around and around, every day, pushing me to get back on again.
I never said it would be easy.
But I can’t let my good heart get torn away from me anymore.
I’m tearing up the ticket inside.
And I am NOT letting you take me for a ride.