Resolution

                                                              Resolution

                                                      By Daryl Campbell



         Gone now is the fantasia that childhood immersed itself within, traded for the maturity that being and adult often brings. The pictures are still, frozen in time and faded. Memories too, single bits of entire lives forever forged within one’s mind.

         Time seemed to belittle my existence, swept over my life in the blink of a god’s eye. Pain and anger and frustration were drawn together in a single moment of time. They mocked my existence, hurt me, overwhelmed me with hatred, and striped me of the hope I wanted to have.

         I felt pain, nature’s first, in my experience of birth. In the beginning, there was pain, pain I was eventually repaid for giving. Anger followed, tortured me with its unchecked rage. Much resentment was denied, hidden behind a level mind, but always there, even hidden. Then the frustration, pain evident and anger never fully resolved. The frustration stemmed from hopelessness in the struggle against the inevitable.

         Why did the imagination falter, fade, and vanish. When the dreams ended there was nothing left but fate, a dangerous misconception. Fate led to the end of life with no room for the experience of fantasy. Without dreams there were no aspirations and without aspirations there was only normality and distinct lack of individualism. I feared to chase illusive unicorns and wish upon falling stars. I should have looked for purple dragons, fantastic wizards, and lost heroes which would gain substance from the worlds of my imagination. Those illusions should've been free to rule over this impractical world. Imagination is reality in many ways, a wonderfully twisted portion of the whole thing.

         Worldly riches rewarded to those that greed their time, while fame sometimes found those after death that lived their life in the arts of man. The end of the body too, brought the faithful an eternal reward, ended pain, no longer any fear or anger to haunt us then. In our world, deaths were noble. Many became generous and popular as they passed, but, as I sat and pondered, I found myself unable to resolve my personal difficulties with death. If her icy hands brought such relief, why was she followed by sorrow?

         I don't fear the reaper in any manner, my own fear is of living. I know that I'm ready when darkness lets me sleep and I can only hope to have found those dreams and to have unlocked that imagination before I left.

         I choose now to release my imagination, allow it to find its way in the world. I will no longer harbor resentments and will hold to my dreams until death takes them from my cold hands. I will not give way to hopelessness and I resolve to become greater in life than I will become once I’m dead.