Limitless Possibility

One can try so hard to say the right thing in the right way and at the right time that he never says a word. He is silent and paralyzed by the possibility of a misstep -- a single, solitary, crushing misstep. Sadly, both he and we are denied the wisdom and happy accidents of his spontaneous contributions. Yet, for him there is always hope that he will find a voice, and with that voice he will sing the songs of a thousand generations and channel the voices of all that have gone before him and all those who will ever live in his wake. His creative energies always churning and pulsing below the surface, but a fissure never vents even an atom of these magnificent thoughts. Trapped. Somehow, though, his optimism never wanes. He always feels, "Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow..." we'll finally witness the eruption of mind that has been so patiently nurtured in the lonely chambers of his consciousness. An eruption so glorious as to leave history and future forever trembling in its shadow. But inaction leads to inaction, and fear begets terror and slowly his mind turns in upon itself. Months turn into years and eventually segue into forever. Those ideas he cherished with his life's blood become the secrets that shall never be whispered. And in his ever darkening womb he finds the peace that has always eluded him: to exist without responsibility and to die with limitless possibility.

Thanks for reading.

Your Unfaithful Servant