On unsteady feet I walk to the beat of unborn hope, tightly held by doubt, in a prison of stasis.

My resolve melts and drains from my body, like blood from a lamb. Haltingly I stop, trying to find hope, a purpose, strength, character.

I’ve been standing too long, lie down or move. My choices are evident, my conscious mind screams for action, but lacking honor, I cowardly move on.

No end game, I wander to the offbeat. It’s my defiance that fuels me. No one expects me to succeed, not even me.

Trudging on, I see a purpose in the contrary.

© The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2014

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3 Responses to Dreamscape

  1. night owl says:

    You are a contrary one.

    I met your Vietnamese doppelganger a few days ago at the nail salon. I imagine he couldn’t understand why I kept staring at him.

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