THE LIONS DEN

(THE INEVITABILITY OF THE FLOW) ONE MORE CUP OF COFFEE
THE SOUND AS THIS TALE IS TOLD...
https://youtu.be/-Hv5T7LflU8

The birds singing in the trees bore witness to the dawn yet the sky remained dark.
The Lonesome Stranger breathed deep and smelled the imminent birth of a new day.
He in tune with the earth, the breeze, the praying trees.
Such a curse, this cognizance.
Such a blessing to be this cursed.
Allah in the everything, the Lonesome Stranger realizing these things.
The deepest blue of a dawning day.
Shadows of clouds drifting by in the slowly brightening sky.
Promises of life and the inevitability of imminent death drifting by.
Love a promise that he had found and lost.
Sometimes he wished he knew its embrace again but he and love had such a sordid past, it seeming to not be a thing he should know.
No fault of his, he such a hard entity to overstand.
He Lonesome Stranger had hardened his heart in the days of his childhood.
In the days of his youth as so many tried to play him with love, used it to further their own means.
The stringent tones of a stringed instrument playing in the vastness​ of his pineals.
A sad violin song, the mellow tones of a piano, the wail of a mother on her knees.
She crying over a dead son, a wayward daughter, a husband or boyfriend going away to jail.
The Lonesome Stranger having witnessed all these things.
Wishing that love might find him, take him into it's soft hold, that death might take him away from these confused beings.
So much beauty and they would rather bicker and fight, they would rather focus on material things that really had no value.
Houses made of plentiful wood, shoes made of plentiful leather.
Diamonds made of coal... Silver, Platinum and gold.
The Lonesome Stranger seeing the futility of all these things as men and women waged war over such inconsequential and petty things.
Space travel but a thought away, happiness but a bit of silence away, if only these beings really overstood their divinity.
Their prime directive.
They in their ignorance following religions designed to keep them rooted in place, holding them enthralled.
Controlled by other men who held truth at bay, standing at the right side of pulpits whispering lies.
Ancient societies ruling in their very modern midst. Jin and authors of confusion.
Towers of Babel, Sodom and Gomorrah, Revelations and revolutions, scientific institutions, whip chains and multiple contusions.
Doctors that plagued them with chemical remedies and separated them from their spiritual selves.
Natural cures outlawed and ignored.
Job had eyelids of the morning, he breathed the embers of fire.
Cough, cough.
The Lonesome Stranger in the midst of these beings cried in the depths of his soul, he knowing the truth knew that these things were too much for these beings to bear.
His silence consuming him and threatening to tear him apart.
Heaven but a thought away.
The cicadas singing in the trees bore witness to the dusk of night.
The Lonesome Stranger born to die.
The Lonesome Stranger existing in the flow... The flow has no beginning nor no end.
He the Stranger is Lonesome no more.
He has become the flow.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY