For Thy Peace, My Soul

18.

I have shed more tears than all the rain in all history. Salt incrusted dunes from my sorrow; heaped mountains of despair. Yet that same salt erodes my lingering grasp on that intrepid state of coming and going. Loving and hating. Living and dying.

Am I even a human anymore? To what affects do I possess that glorious stature? Do I breath the crisp air? Do I prance about on the ground, my footprints marring the gentle dirt? That selfsame clay that carefully takes us all into itself like cradled babes going back into the womb of Mother Earth.

What monster am I becoming?