By Tom H. Brooks 3
A man walked out of his home and into the desert, with absolutely no intention of returning. This was his choice. This was a journey of serious intensity and furious focus, purpose, meaning…for him, at least.
Everything was meant to be as it was.
This man, tall and lanky with sad and soulful blue eyes, a smile etched into his tan and lined face as if it were a clown’s mask- a witty humor underlined by a deep, immeasurable melancholy. Every story has its song,
every song its melody, its lyrics…
The desert…vast, empty, merciless, unyielding- but, no matter, onward he walked; through the brown, the grey, the pale bleached green, the low ribbed hills and the sad desolate valleys, deep in shadows, on and on he trudged, like a pilgrim in search of an impossible promised land. The sun beat down without rest or pity, the vultures circled lazily above as he inched across the broken and dead land, salt, but no water…
flat, empty, surrounded by hazy blue distant mountains…
a white vacuum
no water no water
an endless thirst
or did he?
He never could tell between when he actually collapsed or if he was dream walking. The line between reality and hallucination was undeniably blurred. The mountains never got any closer…
blue in green
the heart is a closed flower-
we wander dark hallways
and sunlit vistas
looking for something
always wanting more
no lessons learned, nothing new, nothing said, nothing done…
forget it, falling,
c r a w l i n g . . .
n g.. . .
his progress had become
pathetic at best
but his EFFORT…well,
THAT WAS ANOTHER STORY…
He walked on and on and on
deeper into the endless desert, further and further
into the dry yet bleeding desert heart of his very own soul….