Choice

Branches sway in an evening breeze,
as we walk in comfortable silence.

How soon will the season change?

Freedoms no man can understand,
sacrificed to prove their reality.

How soon will the seasons change?

The blessing of absolute choice,
and I chose absolute separation.

And the season begins to change.

A picture of your perfection,
rejected for perverse illusions.

And the seasons begin to change.

Still searching for ways to blame you,
for allowing me to choose myself.

Everything has changed.

Drink, Mourn, Grow

Like a raging thunderstorm your word approaches.
Light drizzle grows into a sheet of glass stretching from heaven to earth.
And the thirsty land celebrates.
The storm continues.
We drink.

Lightning illuminates ominous clouds like a camera’s flash.
A large field ignites into dance.
Yellow, orange and blue melt into white.
The fire is raging.
We mourn.

Scorched earth lives among the quenched.
Destruction mingles with restoration.
The rain’s punches subside and the lightning ceases.
The storm is ending.
We grow.

Sometimes I really enjoy getting to work late…

After turning off the ignition, I gather my wallet, badge, bottled water, route forty four Dr. Pepper, laptop, and sack lunch. I open my car door and a wave of cold silence nearly knocks me down. The parking lot is full of cars, but I am alone. A small smile flashes across my face.

The silence is broken by a squeaking sign being rocked back and forth by the wind like a newborn struggling to sleep in their mother’s arms. I slowly exit the parking structure almost reluctantly only to be surprised by continued solitude. Next to my office building is a golf course, with a line of overpriced homes just on the other side. Strangely no dogs are barking. No kids are playing. It is almost as if God is directing a movie and this is my own private scene.

The wind picks up and I further retreat into myself as I walk up the small hill that leads to the back entrance of my building. There is no one behind me, and no one ahead of me. In my head I picture crowds hustling towards office atrophy. Everyone eager to begin the slow torture of enduring a minimum of eight hours anticipating the day’s end. The picture stands in stark contrast to my current journey. I am half way done with my walk and still do not see a single living soul. The only sounds are created by my flirtatious dance with the wind. If not for our momentary embraces there would be absolute silence now.

With strange sorrow I dismiss my walking companion as I enter the office building. The entrance is a glass void. The wind seems upset, rattling the doors and glass panes. I lift my badge up to the next door and the electronic beep echoes through the entrance area. Once inside I can no longer hear her. My new companion is the synthetic lighting bathing me indiscriminately. I am still alone. As I approach my office, I have my first human interaction since leaving my car. Seven hours, fifty nine minutes and then I am free again.