It’s so weird to be alive. I wake up, eat, shower, get dressed, check up on the happenings of this strange world, run errands, eat, sleep, dream and wake up. The days meld together. Weeks turn into months. As I drift into the future the past seems more like a dream.
I try to make sense of it all, try to live each day unto itself. I try to dig a little deeper, try to better myself. I try to strengthen my spirit and lend a helping hand. Be a friend to my neighbor, and be grateful for what I have.
But try as I may, there’s no rest for my head. It’s a bitter pill for a bitter soul. I’m a bitter drunk who seeks comfort at the bottom of a can. It’s such a bitter fight to make peace with the devil in my ear.
I’m a fighter and I will fight. I won’t tremble before the throne. I won’t bow to the matrix like the zombies marching in rows. I won’t spar round in circles with insignificant trolls. I’m a fighter and I will fight.
It’s so weird to be alive. Each day is another chance, each chance brings new hope, and hope lays my head to rest. So I will dig and I will sow, and watch the vines creep up the slope. Until they reach the mountaintop and bear more fruit than I can hold.
As I go about my days, I’ll tread lightly as seek faith. And I’ll do the work, and I’ll take the steps, and I’ll climb a mountain then take a breath. (Gasp) Serenity.
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