I found the place where hatred died, but so did love, and I find myself wandering down the aisles of corpses of dreams and fantasies, wondering where reality is eventually laid to rest. I found it, in the eyes of those who watch, and in the voices of those who spoke. This place isn’t meant for those who hear.
Because I searched, until I found what I was looking for. Absolution didn’t come, and I was relaxed knowing that what I was expecting, was not supposed to be expected. But I trusted, in true design, that what I once mistook for faith, turned out to be nothing more than a fictional pantomime.
So I lead you to hear of the place where it all ends, so you will see that I’m not looking for peace. I do not fear the loss of hatred just because it means that this heart beat has died, its’ sound is soothing amongst the breath of beasts, but like fantasy, the truth must die too.
And blessed be those who love without first being taught its’ meaning. Because I found what I was looking for in the place where we all made the mistake. Symbols and metaphors layer on like cake left too long to bake in an oven that was never turned on. I’m exactly where I am meant to be, whispering to those who cannot see, and cannot speak, about the inflation of the cost of dying while still living. With too many contracts to sign, what better understanding can we make in the sands, of answers to questions that have questions as answers.
See, I found the place where hatred died, and I walked the aisles as my hands skimmed over smooth coffins without the desire to know what lay inside, and I, having no want nor care, simply maintain a hope that oblivion has blank paper…and a pen.
This is in response to the posted response for my poem Beautiful.