The mission, at least for me, is not an accomplished art. Its message flies in the face, opposite any impending action with its trembling meander of what cannot be known, of what might be appreciated as a good and merry Love. If it’s just for my own consumption, my own journey, so be it. If it’s more than that, I still plan to seize upon it like a servant whose brimming confidence totes love with a hidden pleasure.
I understand the dilemma. I see the greenness of my journey, the wind and chill and starlit diversions upon my course to love, the storm and dust and fluttering fears warning me of private snares that may await me on my road toward the unknowable unknown. Roadblocks can be removed- find a clear way around them. Believing is nothing more than a waiting doorway. A door, taken or untaken, is still a door to more of the unknown, a conduit on the way, propped up for my dreams.
© 2011 by mark prime
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