Like a icy wind in summer time, my thoughts are stirred by the winds of anger and cold.
See, in this world so much is uncertain. Life rarely plays fairly in this game of existence. Good people die, children are abused, some have too much power, and others go hungry. Winds sweep through the down town of the human collective, playing with discarded papers and trash, echoes of what was once held dear. I stop momentarily on my lonely trek to pick up a piece. On this crumpled and yellow parchment I find the voice of a forgotten way. Love. Across the wrinkled surface I find the tale of a boy's dream...
"I saw her again today. Her golden hair shining in the sun. Her smile rivaling the whiteness of snow. My heart flutters, my pace quickens. We talked, and walked slowly along the sidewalk. We delved deep into the realms of politics, relationships, entertainment, and art. For a few moments out hands entwined. I complimented her on her appearance, she was reluctant to believe me. I asked her out to dinner tonight, I will write more after...fingers crossed."
I was intrigued, I began to look frantically around for the next page, wondering the end of the tale of this young lover's endeavors. At length I found it. Crumpled and slightly scorched it was barely readable. But what was made my heart sink once again into despair for the streets of the collective...
"Why!? What, how did this happen. I thought we were in love...but I guess love doesn't exist. We were alone, I was enjoying her company, her intelligence, her smile. Then her smile changed. The innocence, the love, the happiness was replaced by a gaze I could not break free of. And before I knew where I was, her chains overtook me. I should have, could have fought back...but she knew too well how to 'play'." -burns disfigured a bit- "...now I sit here resigned to my fate. I heard today that she was with three men last night, at the same time. Is this all I am?? A tool, a toy, a discardable commodity? I guess I am..."
I dropped the echo to the ground and the winds of corruption whisked it away. Is this all that is left? Around me on this street of the collective, posters of clubs, pictures common of pornos, wrappers of condoms, and over used toys. This is not love, this is lust. We are fooled into believing that as males we are a penis meant to please women, we have no brains, we have no use, we are to be fit, strong, heartless, and good. And the women are brainwashed to believe that they must be pretty, must be sexy, must be pleased. Looking around at the filth I find myself becoming more disgusted at things that I once thought were love myself. I walk on now wondering what I will find around the next corner of the deteriorating street of the collective.
When will they understand...when will we learn?
