June 21st 2007 5:40pm Savannah, GA Shyla’s little ranch home was tucked away behind the row of weeping willows. More dreary looking houses and an abandoned truck rusting by the street, made the scenery look even sadder. It was hard to imagine that inside one of those old withdrawn houses, a newborn was trying to see the world with twinkle eyes in all amazement. Eric had parked on the street and was now walking towards the little ranch home. He had not noticed the adjoining houses, nor that the driveway ended into a worm-infested narrow mud pathway leading towards the house. He could see nothing, as his insides couldn ’t bear another iota of sensory impulse. Or perhaps, he, standing at this moment, still and alone, on grounds completely alien, was shielded from everything outside of his own chosen senses. He felt strangely calm, as if he had just come walking out alive from the dead. As he stood in front of the large wooden door now, loud heartbeats thumped against his ringing hea...
Comments
I really dig how you equate a heart to a clockwork toy...once it is spent - you just rewind it and off it goes again...
lub dub...lub dub...
Cool stuff :)
The poem says that man's "hope against hope", his spirit against all obstacles, his innate tendency for survival, is a madness (not classifiable and definitely not explainable by simple logic) is a gift which is greater than Hope itself.
Can also be interpreted simply as - Journey is greater than the final destination; means is greater than the reward.
thanks for reading!
August 21, 2007 3:38 AM
I'm very limited mentally :)