Lost Souls

Every religion, culture, and era appears to have a different perspective on mortality. There are some tribes, like those lost in the jungles of Papua New Guinea, that fortify their deceased empires with rich spices and, quiet literally, take the very essence of their lives into their own. More common in today's civilization are the long, over done celebrations of mourning. The streets grow cluttered and dark with the crying bodies of the broken souls left to deal with the wreckage of putting their lives back together after witnessing a tragic loss. However, no matter what culture or tradition a subset of people follow, they all end up back in the same position:  waiting for what comes next and living fervently the last few moments of their known existence.

Personally, I have never been that zealous to exist. There always appears to be this greater purpose or conquest hanging heavily over my head, taunting me to fail better and daring me to pursue my goals harder. I'm not content with my present and its unknown packages, yet I'm no longer eager for the future and its repetitive patterns. I'm simply tired. Tired of this endless track I keep running around, a song stuck on a repetitive loop. That's what my life is. A loop. I have lived a thousand lives, I've been a queen, a beggar, a coward, and a hero. I've died a humiliating death and had a lion-heart's funeral. Yet, time continues to slither on, crossing in some instances and lagging in others.

I have seen the past mistakes of my future self and they weigh heavily on my defected soul. They create in me only, for a split second, the simple desire for calmness. Tranquility in the center of a storm that rages on. Yet, I digress as time continues to slither on, backwards and forwards, and all of my mistakes are made anew, this time more lovely and more temperate .....