Journey of Purpose

The Good Son

The prodigal son who always wished he had everything he could grab in and out of this glorious murky world we call Earth. A worthy worldly worldwide event we so awfully warned would only be unearthed on the days of old. How rock has manifested itself to become gold, how shiny silver made itself to become silk, how creatures of the deep wondered aimlessly through a very narrow cliff of promises, how I've wished I could tell my younger self all of the flaws he will make. How I wish, that I could for all that I can, dig deep each time it called for such precision, to end a completion, to mend a failed compromised decision.

To end it.

To mend it so I can go back to being me. So I can move back to feelings with glee, share a cup of liquor with these people whom I've pleaded to ease the pain with-in. I wish I had the power to go back, to erase what has been done, to eradicate what was thought of badly in the likes of such disarray.

But I could not even fathom what I've done to deserve such scrutiny, is there no form of self proclaimed unison of good will? No compassion after a passionate encompassing form of faith? No forgiveness, or belief to shadow such mistake? So rare has the judgement of people become so protruding-like that it made them so thick with their words, so filthy when they urge someone yo change their ways. To rally a force that wasn't there, so they can tell you that they did something, that they did not-did not do something to help your helpless crusade on giving up. Even though you haven't.

I'd like to think that I have redeemed myself enough, ten years in extended education just to claim my prize. I think I have faced enough scrutiny, enough embarrassing moments as it is. I've faced enough cruel worthy cruelty, that I've bathed in the facts. That I have been placed in front of judgemental fools enough to earn a little peace, even just a little bit of it. That I have earned some crumbs of respect, just enough for a pinch. That I have surrendered any form of reluctance just to achieve my worth in peace. Be that little fool who ignored hate so much just to earn a little piece.

Can they end it for me?

It just feels like, every word and every advise felt more troublesome than their words before. That a protruding trance from a self righteous chance that they wanted for you as they thought. It could help you they said, could mend you, they've read you and spoke of how failure's been brought to bring you down to size. That without them theor world will surely cut you up as a prize, for the worthy, your not worthy for such praise as you've gone soft. They won't treat a royal with royalty as your gold have made you untaught. I though for sure that each time I'd be with them I can be myself, as it turned out I should just let myself go and be whoever they want me to represent myself.

Short but sweet-end