Bleak Encore

What is the point of a prayer?
When I was young I was told something unbelievable:
Ask for the righteous desires of your heart,
and you will receive guidance.
Is this mythology?

The cold clay brick scratches my back.
The wall I lean on won’t give,
so I can thank God for that one constant.
My ragged breathing chokes me,
and the blowing wind doesn’t help much.

I have only run a few blocks.
I needed to get away.
Away from the crowds.
I need to get close to sanctuary…
…wherever that might be.
So I keep running.

Nothing to do but think.
Brood, have you.
Reflect.
But there is no real solace in it.
A chapter has ended.
Why?
God.
Why?

I round the bend,
my footsteps falling in staccato rhythm.
Once the wondrous anger has subsided,
I try to make sense of things.
Where to now?
How can I follow this act?
So I look for a place to stop.
An old warehouse.
Brick walls.
Looks sturdy enough.

While leaning,
while resting,
I consider myself.
My reflection leers back from window shards on the dirt.
Un-tucked shirt,
wild eyes,
loose collar and badly knotted tie,
outrageous hair.
I do not look in the least bit stable.
I doubt if this run is even real,
or just a bleak dream.

I clutch my eyes in frustration.
What I am trying to do is absurd.
How can you improve upon perfection?
I have experienced the highest highs,
and the lowest lows.
The passage has been completely intense.
How can you follow an act like that?
The last few years in my life have been amazing.
And now its time to leave that place.
The past no longer breathes.

And I cry.
I find no dishonor in the act.
I slide down the wall.
I slowly land sitting.
Looking every bit the part of broken,
I feel as I look.
The hems on my slacks are tattered and frayed.

A light mist has been blowing with the wind.
September air has that foreboding spice in its voice.
Another birthday is coming.
Indeed.
And I have yet to write a sequel to the first installment.
I want to construct a fabulous second act…
…to a life, my life.
The opening was too good.
It was too intense.
it just cant get better than how it started.
When your dealing with a life the expectation is so solid its almost tangible.
But it is impossible.
I have tried.

Years I have wasted.
No amount of sensory overload,
no matter how hard I search…
…it…it cant even hold a candle up.

And so here I am now.
Alone.
In no man’s land.
Behind an abandoned warehouse.
Trying a prayer in the best way I know how.
Asking for the most important,
righteous,
innocent,
and helpless things.
And no matter how hard I wrestle.
No matter how harrowing a plea I give.
No matter how loud my tears hit…
…I hear nothing.
I feel nothing.

And so the time-tested formula fails me again.
And I continue to draw conclusions.
Can anyone blame me?
I pick myself up and start walking home.
The search for inspiration continues.
Alone.