Insomnia Strikes

It is an unwelcome creature. I’m familiar with it. Sleep has become less and less an escape. I lay in the dark, and nothing comes to whisk me away. The days are without structure and no outline for the day ahead; the need isn’t there, but the pattern is a comfort. Each day simultaneously drips and flies by, trapped by waiting for the storm to pass. Will this pass over us?

Distrust, fear, angst, anger, boredom, I fight to not feed any of those thieves. I try to avoid there nagging calls to act, to react. Unknown is the name of our road ahead. Unknown. That is our greatest obstacle to all our potential. Will we cower beneath our fear of uncertainty, will we sacrifice our will on the altars of the unknown? My fight is to remain a man of faith, to be compassionate to the fearful will of ignorance.

Consigned to a revelation that we have no recourse to stand against the tides of oceans, I wait. I don’t hope for normalcy, I know that is forfeit. I do not have visions of a better tomorrow. I see it surrendered. My hope is for a life that at least exudes free will, entwined as it were by preeminent impuissant hordes and their fallow will.

Reticent observation paints the grotesquery of the blame and distortion of an unknowable into as a squalid meal, lacking sustenance and continuing the piper’s tune. Vermin masses biting the flesh of their neighbors as their foul feet spread their loathsome sickness into the fetid turbulence of their borrowed vitriolic torrents of hate and fear. The piper plays and the plague-born rats with their pontifications and accusations wash away to the sea.

This is where my faith falters. To sew a web of foreboding with ignorance ensnaring the heart of reason to become a desiccated form, to devoid the living a life, to adjudicate without evidence, to execute with impudence, to not see or own their complicity, I beg for the spider to take us all. I see no worth in the malingerer, no value in the craven. This is where I falter. No longer capable of controlling my own, my own light flickers beneath the bell snuffer. Will we ever show a worth?

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