Frury Lane
Parched dirt contrasts to the oily asphalt on the road that I live on. An old rail yard transmogrified into a new suburb installation. The top soil is teeming with life, while the old ground below glows gently with the waste spilled over half a century. The houses pop up overnight, yet it's still a desolate avenue next to an old neighborhood.
The mornings have a hum of slow, boiling work. Radios blaring the chitchat of disk jockeys discussing traffic and sports, while union builders trundle up and down the skeletons of the future strip mall.
There's no view better than from the overpass. One side, the height of luxury, big and expensive houses with expensive cars parked in the driveway. On the other, an industrial road, paneled with companies creating or destroying products. A dilapidated sidewalk, covered in trash and filth, constantly commuted upon by vagrants and the homeless, searching for recyclables and a safe place to rest for the night.
Without a second glance, the wealthy pass by it, never acknowledging the destitution, while they gorge themselves on overpriced instant coffee drinks and non-gmo burritos crafted by college students.
Even I am guilty of overlooking it. I walk through it on my way to work everyday, and never give it a second take. I'm sure you're guilty of doing nothing too.
Soliloquyesque
What swells the fury of Heavens wrath? What fuels the frozen fire of my soul?
This passion that drives mad men sane, and beckons them to fly amongst the clouds of their fevered dreams. Why am I tortured with this serene anxiety and chaotic and frivolous sensation of devotion, that is inculcated so severely that my heart is unabashed and lamentful?
Here I stand, in front of a road that forks to the points of the compass and burden my soul with the options, endless options.
The path North leads me to war, and a great warrior shall I become, vanquishing all that stand before me. I will have no mortal weakness for I will be endowed with the blood of Achilles, but with this great power comes no end.
I will be forever trapped within this body without love for eternity. Shall I cast all thoughts of love and passion to the wind and live forever in the glory of battle?
Shall I head East, to the Land of the Rising Sun, where knowledge and the power of the mind prevail over brute force and thirsty weapons edge? The Land of the Rising Sun holds the power of pen and ink on high. Shall I live there, and become lost within endless libraries of the knowledge of ages past? Shall I come to wither like a rose in the Sun? Will I fade as the ink does from the parchment?
Or will my soul be pulled West, where the coastal mountains echo with the ageless whispers of love. Shall I live without pride or honor and only in an others passion? Will my soul continue on when its container does not? Will my love hold forever as the Moon rides high in the middle of the Night? Where will I find this true end to this mad existence full of pain and sorrow, of love and happiness?
For the one I love most, the one I hold so dear, feels so far away this sorrowful soul. I'm torn in all directions, without a guiding star.
