COMMON THOUGHTS FROM AN UNCOMMON MIND

Most prolific moments are defined in just that, the Moment; My Prolific Moment has taken thirty four years to develop. It didn't just happen I wasn't standing in the line of life and have an epiphany; thoughts did not just thrash through my mind aimlessly, sparking a wonder of revelation in a second of discovery. I have fought for every foot of my existence, I have bled for every minute of visions, I have shed a dry tear for ever failure, and couldn't begin to phantom the bittersweet smell of understanding. My battle field has always been in my mind, victory at neither end. I falter against a foe that has no weakness, yet has vast knowledge of each of mine. The field is endless, splattered with the blood of my undoings, yet I am boxed in with no path to flee upon. My life is lived for the existence of others, ones whom I owe everything too, but seem to always disappoint. I cannot change my life; I cannot return to the battlefield of yesterday and alter the fight. I must stand upon the weakened foundation I have lain, held together for the most part by those that surround me, for the cracks are great and the stability is attacked daily by the harsh waters of time and distortion.. I head onward into the darkness for them, My Band of Warriors that I display proudly across the vastness of my broad shoulders, ones whom names are encrypted forever into the very essence of my existence; ones whom I have bleed and suffered to carry with me, ones whom I will never leave on the field alone. However, Even these grand souls cannot sort through my ranting, My words reach their ears with thunderous overtones, their eyes struggle to adapt to the light I dwell within, their hands tremble as the bone chilling air howls in their veins. Though I can protect them, I can never shield their thoughts, I cannot direct their hearts, I am not able to control their pain. So I struggle on the battlefield, tired and sore from raging poundings, broken and limp from the relentless beatings, I Still Struggle. Never surrender, Never Stop, Never Succumb, and Never Walk Away. This field is where I will spend out my days the sword sharpened with knowledge, The body protected with Will, My Eyes Adorned with Fire and an unquenchable burn, one that protrudes throughout every pore of my body, the Flame that keeps us aglow, the Flame that forces that next step, the Flame that will eventually burn out, leaving my eyes exposed to the darkness, and my body exposed to any who can still see through the fire. But until the waters of life are drained from my body I will prevail, I will wander across this endless battlefield from victory to defeat, only to turn and fight again for the steps I have already trodden, and the path I must retrace. If only the sword had been sharper when I began this quest, If only the map had more detail and the path more vividly lit, or if I had possessed a guide, to lead me around the obstacles instead of falling hopelessly into each one. If I had these things, I would not be myself, rather a puppet fighting a war for a self righteous mentor full of fallacies and hypocrisy. I choose this path, I took each step, some with careful thoughts, others at blinding speed with my eyes wide shut, but each step belongs to me and no-one else. So the battle is mine to loose, I cannot control the War, but I can hold the field, relentlessly stand firm and protect the borders, Fear is now my ally I have learned to twist it into hope, I have fought enough to realize that failure is success, we do succeed just never to our expectations, thus the next step is always out of reach, we never look to our hands to see that we have already grasp that which seems so distant. We are too blinded by the cloud of greed and waves of self pity, our minds eye is covered by the quick sand of despair and the snares of envy, our voices spew chaos, we scream analogies of transformation, but no sounds are ever heard, they are trapped in the winds of time and cast amidst the sea of settlement. I will fight on, when my blade is dull, I will slay the enemy with sticks and rocks, and when the land is barren I will sacrifice my own limbs as weapons if that is what the war calls for. Until my body decays and my breathe is stolen, and upon that time I pray my battle was successful, that though victory was never a savored taste, the ones I fought for would have to fight no more they found it a horror to live by my side I found it an honor to die by theirs. Their fields will be covered in flowers of concrete, so that they never wilt, and reap a harvest of protection from the wandering soldiers, who have lost their will to fight, their ability to lead or their grasp on truth, this is my epiphany, and the years of battle my prolific moment, though it will never be defining, it will also never be relinquished