Inlove

I remember walking once.  From Greenwich village I departed, destined to find meaning out west.  Along the road I walked for days.  There were no cars, I saw no transportation.  Along the road I came to many towns.  There were no people, I felt no one's presence.  And though it felt much more than hopeless to go on, I proceeded.  It was sometime within the borders of Philadelphia when I first felt the need to look over my shoulder. I couldn't see a thing, but I felt something there.  It was beauty. The sweet scent of Death, and it was chasing me.  Death followed my every step. She walked behind me, her tattered white shroud and sullen eyes, emitting pure evil and desire. I was afraid, but comfortable, intimidated but not drawn.  I kept walking.  I never had turned to see if Death was still behind. I could feel the piercing warmth of her eyes, pinpointed directly toward my heart.  I could hear the gentle scrape of bone across loose gravel, and I felt pity.  She silently screamed loneliness.  I kept walking.  She kept walking.  We crossed the Mississippi and I decided to stop in Winona to rest.  Some how I knew that if I were to sleep I'd awake, but when I awoke she was gone.  No longer was she standing in the moonlight alone, looking deep into eternity, as she was when I last laid eyes upon her. She was gone, I was lost.  As close to home as ever I decided not to go.  I drew south, and again I was alone. Written October 16th, 2001 © on Apr 04 2002 05:20 AM PST   0 • 1