So this is it. This is what you've done. We all sit, awestruck and silent, accomplices in the act. Behold the carnage. The knicks, The doubts. The tears. The stares. The diverted gaze. The shame.
I'd ask if this dance of chaos satisfies but I know better than to point such a finger with such a cry. I know better than to demonize. You are no more a demon than a g-d, and barely a man. all the empathy and concern that therein contains.
I understand that to demonize is to give way to the very instinct that wishes to polarize, wishes to deify my very own self above the rest, believe my scope as omniscient. This part of me that wishes to hate without limit, with impunity, the part of me that wishes to forsake humility. It is not my place and condemn.
And yet. Yet I know.
I know that we are as guilty as you. Even when you are guilty, again and again. I know we are weak. I know we want, we hope, we desire...much. So much. So much that imminent failure lies such the evil threat. the smoky and pervasive threat that sometimes we'll take the door to mediocrity and apathy, we'll jump at our last chance for a meaningless guarantee and your light and frothy golden glow of a ride, slide down yours scales, follow your slither towards the false light of temporary satisfaction. You are waiting in the shadows for when we stop and rest from the overwhelming gaze of the sun.
you are a snake. Calm and collected, apple after apple in silhouette, recent nourishment apparent in your slick profile, lounging the pool we use to bath, barely visible in the roots of the very tree we pray for guidance from.