Have you ever been afraid of what the future holds?
The turning of the year was never such a big deal for me; just like birthdays, they are nothing but lines of insignificant numbers. To pinpoint a certain place in time and associate it with some meanings was never my cup of tea. Unlike the believers of Nostradamus nor the sympathizers of the Mayans, I have failed to spend my free time on wondering when the world will eventually come to an end.
But then I came to a halt. A couple of hours before time for the old year is running out, I ponder all the events of the last almost threehundredandsixtyfive days. Would the new pack of days again be an ill witted, uncompassionate entity, which would just continue to batter my withered soul like its predecessor? And then came the question into my head, if others are also afraid of what the future holds.
This fright is shattering my road, greying my skies, hiding my bright sun from sight.
Never have I taken my time to stop and call to mind bitter sweet moments of the past,
never have I taken my time to stop and feel the wounds and scars they have left me.
The pain was an obtrusive color in my palettes. It shook my balance, disarrayed my concentration.
The pain assembled a tremendously high tower of fear with no stairs and put me on top of it.
Anyway, while I'm up here, would You please strike me with your thunder of enlightenment, oh God?
