Echoes
The echoes casting ripples through the souls of all living
things. The pause just before the awed intake of breath. Its
the split second of knowing you have a place in the world
along with the flashes of beauty. Everything that truly has
beauty is dimmed and trampled by the false idols stitched
into the souls of every man, woman and child. Society holds
up the almighty dollar, physical beauty and all the other
glitter in the world as what is beautiful and true. These
things are nothing. Beauty is in a child's smile, a rainbow
after a storm, lightning in the night sky. Everyone seems
to have a gaping hole inside them that they spend a lifetime
trying to fill. People floundering in the tide of buying frenzies
and keeping up public appearances. Kids who grow by the light
of technicolor sunsets and manic animation. There's whole
generations of insomniacs surfing late night infomercials
and the internet trying to find something that will make them
feel connected to the world, that they matter when they aren't
even connected to themselves. There's so much pain and hate
in the world because no one gives a damn. Everyone hides behind
their doors and dreams of things they never tried to touch.
They insulate themselves against the prying eyes of the world
and slumber in their fearful comas. The world outside is terrible.
It is full of people who will rain down a storm of virtual
boulders upon the heads of others. If you look above the sludge
that everyone else is bogged down into, they will rip you
apart as you pick up your feet. Everyone that slumbers will
rub the death from their eyes to pick others apart because
in a mob, everyone's the same. And if you destroy another
person you can lie to yourself another minute of another day,
that you're okay. The facade that coats everything sticks
and tarnishes because its all built on greed and emptiness.
You can't find substance in something that is meaningless.
Its all just routine.
