What are the consequences of truth, really? Is it 'dare'? We put our victim'd lives out there, the sputum of our fear, our hopes and care, not knowing 'whom' we're speaking with really...our fishing line, but confiscated, sim corrupted, naivete.
A last stand, our last strand, I think, our last nerve...a 'Holy Mary' pass, from one consumed existence...to another fading frequency, out there, and then...'something' tugs the line. Our feet, six inches off the floor, our gagging destiny, hanging by a hair, and there...a miming trickster, smiling from the screen, offering an 'app' of savior?
Are we to believe? Are we 'believers' to begin with? Does Belief, make up a thing? How are we to know? At best, fate has a face...compassion, yes? No? A giving nature? I never heard, it was a thing of theirs, from cold and distant inexorability, to 'we warm ones'.
I don't know. I only hope an pray, and like a child...play, in a room of gods, and angel beings bearing ways...if they will share them...down the line.
Amen!
Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico
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