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sinking ever sideways, he drifted all the way down to the very bottom,
where he tried in vain to push upwards again. all the effort he put forth
only took him deeper into the shifting sand, digging, as it were, a hole
into the bottom of the pit itself. still he struggled -- not to release
himself from darkness, but to justify his own existence and vain (ever
empty) behavior. and every movement, as he struggled in the dark, pulled
him ever deeper.
until, at last, he remained without strength, buried forever in the
darkness of his own vain thinking. silently, he began to wish for a single
drop of water to cool the dry heat that baked his tongue to the roof of
his mouth.
glimph, he said.
it was all that his lungs, now still, could sputter.
the silence of the mutter barely escaped his lips. and in all the chaos
above and around him, no one could hear the cry of his heart.
deep in hell as he was, he still remembered life...
he remembered all the times he made his rants against God and simple
realities...
he remembered every vain choice he made...
if only he might have a single day returned to him...
a few hours, a few minutes...
a single moment in which he might confess, repent, turn back to God...
but...
now all was lost...
in this place...
where no one sees you...
no one...
cares...
or hears...
the silent screaming...
oh, God...
what have i done... ?
but no one answered.
Jim,
on the behalf of those who cannot cry aloud any more.
©2005 Jim Sutton
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