What is inspired
by such a depiction? Do you feel anger, fear, disgust, happiness, joy, remorse,
are you a simple log of emotionless void, or do you see beauty? Depending on
who you are, where you are and come from, and what is affecting you right now,
you might answer a bit differently, though I am sure there is some consensus on
the general feeling, for those equipped: hate. If you feel negatively about
this, then chances are you are in a rage, despite how small or non-existent it
may seem. How dare such destruction happen. How dare this be allowed to happen.
But you don't feel this way do you? You see wood, whether it be a pencil, a
sheet of paper, or the beams holstering your home from the ground. A resource
well exploited, a marvel to one's eyes left to ruin and splinters. So. Where to
go now?
Reflecting on
normal action, you get an idea. One so wrapped in encapsulation, you're hooked.
You go out and speak you mind for those who will pass their mind a moment to
you. You criticize the horrid powers that be for their contempt, for how
complacent they are seated in power, choosing what is right for those who see
those decisions not unless doctored and displayed in highlights for appeal.
Exposing the cosmetics of propaganda and media is old news though. So, that
momentum so painstakingly achieved decays as the stubs of a once young and
murdered forest does some distance away. You stare defeated at the measly
effort to rebuild what was lost, a small patch of
saplings struggling to survive, over which you weep in utter sorrow.
There is no sadness greater than yours, as you carry now two of that burden,
one for the lost, and one for the let down, all of you. to sleep after such
horror was a mere wish gone unfulfilled as the sheet crawled over
you, wrapping you in endless sin and nightmares.
Of course none of
this actually happened, what nonsense would that be. All shuffled away was that
ghastly visage your inner mind so elaborate cooked up as some silly conscience
beckoned for your consent, to which you scoffed at as you continued on your way
to the nearby building, leaving the scrappy weather-sick poster all sad and
alone on the pole with a flickering light in the parking lot of your summer
time employment. As you take the next person's order, the experience was all
but gone. However, as you passed under the shady light and glanced at the
annoying picture plaster on its cousin, something caught your eye. No longer
was there stubby trees and downtrodden mud on cloudy horizon. What you saw what
an ember, one large and forcefully in a sky of smoky night, searing your eyes
and soul with deadly pain as the scraps of the failed paper fluttered in
cinders to the wind, forgotten by all. And as the last little trickle of light
faded into obscurity, the pole simultaneously lost its life, leaving you in the
abyss, cold and alone.
Post Script:
"I would
rather give my life for a seed, then sow hate in my heart. For then, there is
no return, only black."
(Hope is greater
in magnitude than wrath, for with it we end joyously seeing beauty in the worst
of places).
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