Don't Lose Your Grip

There's this feeling deep inside that lies within a place that no one can reach. It's safe, unburdened, and locked away, but it still smolders beneath this weight that resides upon mortal shoulders plain. A feeling of self apathy towards the world gone by and still within present view, wishing that things could only get better, with no way to change the motion of the grains of sand within the glass. An emotion that clashes amongst the rocks that border it in, keeping it confined and within grounds permitted to drift.

The waves roll on and crash, colliding with the world amongst the living, providing the pain that is sanctioned to be manipulated by the overcoming joy that anyone being can feel once one is willing to take it all in. Such are these innocents as would a breath of fresh air to the lungs, the lingering smell of fresh cut grass as if floats through the trees, and the sound of a child's laughter due to a world of ignorant bliss. The first sign of approaching shadows followed by the dark rays of the sun as it floats on the horizon, the crackling of burning wood, and the feeling of security from the comfort that surrounds.

But this is the place where in a vacant distance, loneliness resounds like a bellowing fog horn. Where it’s guiding of the ships back home is only to the reality that lies within, in spaces confined beckoning to be released, and for havoc to embark upon this world of the spirit. In this moment, hearing it's call louder than the voices circumambient, one wanders off from the living and finds themselves alone and listening, curled with knees tucked to the chin, and arms wrapped around them.

For a moment, those walls crumble. The world and the pressure once burdened on this emotion permits to be shown and released. The world somehow seems to crumble before eyes filled with sorrow and fear, where hands begin to shake, and the lips begins to quiver. Yet dwelling on this feeling too long would prove insanity, for the guilt of no action by the victim's hand still penetrates the skin as though jumping off the deck into artic waters, where stabbing needles continually break away at every fabric of one's being.

Therefore, turn to the sight of this reality of living. Although never breaking away from this hurt and these scars beneath layers of skin so deep, sanity must be maintained. The world that is heard of is a timid thing that can be so easily lost to all hidden corners of the universe. Those who would stand must stand strong and go on living by building up those walls, tearing them down, or holding it in, but the monument must still remain. A symbolic showing of the mortal that carries the world with their hands above their heart, however the echoing of its beat. Don't let the sound take hold. Don't lose the grip of this life, this world in these hands, this never ending circle of emotions so pure as pain, love, happiness, and sorrow. These headstones that shape the light witnin where no darkness can find it, where no force could alter it.