I survive, almost adapted to an uncertain and changing world, with a brittle and fickle will, prey to doubt and the hypnotizing power of the incomprehensible. My memories sprout ephemeral like flowers in an early and deceptive thaw, to soon disappear in the icy wind of oblivion. My eyes only capture fragments of reality, while the vast world simulates beyond imagination. My ears search for the beat of the universe, but they only perceive the whisper of the wind telling lies in vehicular languages. My thoughts and emotions vanish in this infinite whiteness, where my bones freeze.
And so, weakened and reduced, I get tired of looking for a path, a direction, a certain and definitive reason to keep going. Those who cling to life fail in their attempt to teach me a lesson with the fatalism of their stubborn struggle to exist, pointing their fingers at me, accusing me of volitional inconsistency. They have against me, that I had not begun to fight enough to stay on my feet, to avoid stagnation. Did I have any basis for assuming that it should have been so and that my attitude fled to desertion? Could I have listened to a voice capable of convincing me that dignity is the effluvium of the struggle to achieve what is not denied? As I move through this nightmare, my questions turn to frost that melts and fades away. But way; I advance, slow, like the musk ox that defies the storm, knocking it down with its horns, while my thoughts, as slow as they are persevering, submerge themselves trying to decipher my exact location in the mystery of my approach.
doctorpoet
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