Not yet Entitled

In the Silence, there was only Cowardice. My own. Bared like a tribal death mask. It is to be sure not the romantic soul that one would hope to uncover behind the clawed vitalistic marks-- but instead the calloused workaholic who casually admits that the Heart has many loves within the Universe, and just one Master: the Work, Itself. Indeed it seems almost criminal. And that is where my tongue has faltered. Upon this desktop alter, I want to say how much I admire the private initiative... The self-sacrifice of the performance Artist, the fight of the Entrepreneurial Spirit! If this speaks to you-- please be humble, and gentle with those unalike. Yes, you are among the proud few. Many would stand as firm if they could, and then won't, for arbitrary reasons. I know because that is me. Ninety-nine percent in, and unwilling to commit to taking that self-lit path to wherever it leads. It is a fundamental lack of Faith (in self, in the greater Good, and in the Almighty). It is my Silent shameful grief, the grasping at the Emptiness, that is Me. True, in this wilderness where I am adrift I am seeking a bond of the like minded, and better yet of those who are striving to advance beyond this dissonance. And I'd like to believe that there is a friendly soul or two here who understands me beyond the confines of the sketchy script. That's it. I have said too much out of hand. I return to blank inward Silence, with its soul splicing Loudness.

Silence challenge @Midnightstars