With my feet in the grass, the morning dew dribbling down the ankles that have carried the weight of years of burden, a sudden spin back shows me the Camelot I had created. The heat emanating with a blistering force far greater than ever experienced, all I can say is “Burn baby, burn…” as I watch the wooden pillars ember glow, cracking the back of the carefully crafted stones I once called home. Hopes and dreams, wishes and beliefs, all eroding in front of my eyes with the beautiful intensity of a dying star, the physical manifestation of an oxymoron.
Hah, even in the twilight of this moonless night, life has a sense of humor. I curse you empty space!
The splitting of the mighty stone awakens a sense of futility in me and reminds me that no matter how strong I build something; just a tiny spark can bring it all come crashing down. A sense of vulnerability overtakes my body, I can’t move; I’m paralyzed and no matter how much I wish put out the fire, I’m still standing at the river alone without a bucket. I must watch, must face the fact that the dream I once had is no longer standing, not the impenetrable structure that once protected my meager existence nor the ideal that it was immaculate and untouchable. My Camelot, you radiated the path to your halls of joy and allowed many to feast in your halls and laugh over wine. You married off, born in and helped support first steps, this was never in the plan. I furnished, cleaned, cared for and gave blood, sweat and tears; nurtured and grew with the flowers in the garden. Now you are the light of my path.
Life is funny like that I suppose.
My castle has crumbled and with it everything that was, but I remain. Feet in the wet soil, my toes dig in like roots of the mighty Redwood, starting new. So while Camelot has fallen, I still stand ready to create and build a new home. The only way to know that I was ready was to take away what I once believed in, leaving behind the hopes and dreams as I carried my wishes and beliefs outside of this burning box.
I stand alone outside the box
because of decisions made about choices lost
At the fault lay a ring of fire
of misspoken thoughts
the spawn of distrust and ire
I could not change a moment
cemented in the past
my feet in the mud
what is stuck will never last