As The Blind Have Seen
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Traveling down a blind alley offers little recourse or recompense for he who wanders or whosoever may be sought.
Inundation and immersion for dark booted misanthropes who are granted truly, nothing but heartache.
If there could be such a thing for them still. Be still or be a match.
Like striking someone into life with a sulfurous backlash.
The only requirement ever really acquired or even needed blazes from within and others might consider themselves lucky.
Perhaps at least one or a few if it goes no further.
If anyone can actually shift probabilities they would probably wish to do so with a clutch and gears and far less responsibility.
Those intrepid souls, tremendously adroit, don't seem to have the ability to look at beauty and simply smile... or not with at least a search for perfection in stodgy and clinical ways.
Others would stymie, theorem and notions, quarters too close to attempt escape.
And how would such be brought to a beauteous fruition for all those awkward and unknowing.
If we trample woodland underfoot or our species booted footsteps, the only thing echoed for millennia will be idiocy and finally our own annoying absurdity, not the thought that we're alive but only an image sculpted in falsehoods that speaks so clearly that we're something better.
It may be odd to anyone but no other creature would say so.
Dilemmas may be sought for anyone truly knowing but when it comes time to close the drapes and rest our day away, we'll wake again and conscience is the only thing to abate.
Drowning in an ocean of forbidden sanities, anarchies and slow tiresome deaths could draw unbidden salutations from anyone who may care, though it makes for bed fellows for but a mote in time.
Like anything... everything... else.
If we could merely take a step back in time, though always wondering, how and who we used to be... maybe all the wrong things could be made right.
Made whole.
Maybe all the love.
Maybe it wouldn't simply be four letters to bite us back or to back bite because of, or because of such dreadful glimpses that we see of our future from time to time.
The past isn't something to try to avoid anymore.
Or even to draw knowledge from as to be forewarned.
Just a curiously evanescent mist of erroneous ideas to cloud our eyes and cripple our judgment.
With the flag of progress held aloft, we carry on.
Ever onward.
Ever after.
Forever.
~~ Timothy Wayne "Angel" Topliff (01/27/2025)