Moments are forced upon us though we forge our own paths.
There are possibilities and false leads in every direction.
The outcome is never an absolute and regret or relief might both result.
The soft edge of dark lures us into the void then leaves us waiting, alone.
This is what chokes our airways, stanches our blood.
It’s the response we choose that makes us who we are – hero, fool, supplicant.
Knowing that the future is always a mystery grants us courage or makes us cower.
Success is a triumph one day, an accusation the next, a mourner over the open grave.
It slices our souls. It pools our tears. It makes us human.
This is what sears our minds, opens our hearts to prayer.
Just a thought 79
Landscape painting by Orson Pratt Huish, courtesy Wikipedia