DARLING

I represent the commodity of the bodies before me. The dearest darling idolized by others for the soul reason that in some regard I am a beacon of hope for people prematurely buried in the bitter earth of the ever spinning world. Although I was born screaming, I have been raised with a hand over my mouth, holding back my every word, sound or discussion I desire so desperately to utter. Whilst still being told to articulate, my voice is far too indignant to fall upon fictitious gentle ears. I am told that my words are the bows and arrows at my disposal during battle but it is impractical to fight a battle that has already anointed me the looser and demoted my bows and arrows to merely sticks and stones. My feet creating cavities in the fatigued battleground as I am escorted away from those still fighting the loosing match.  The shadows of my hostility captured by of the commonwealth’s commandments to which I am now a slave. Haunted by the echo’s of my proficient words as I am forced to consume the hallow scholarship of unarmed souls. For because they are as simple as ABC, they posses the right to remain a beacon. I come to understand that my prospect on this earth is depicted by the life expectancy of my words and when they transform from capability and virtue to insignificant mumbles. Every sound I struggle to mutter injected with implicated apprehension. Previously a beacon of hope, here and now I stand the widow of my light as I watch my nobility grow dim as it sinks casually into the rayless terrestrial compost of camaraderie. A forgotten darling of the living world I stand unaccompanied, a beaconless embodiment of the bodies before me.