Age of Reason

I struggle with reason. I dwell on it, rub over it like a pig in mud. Try it on, wear it overnight, sometimes invite it over for the weekend. And when pleasing, cook it a good meal. It takes awhile to break in, like a good pair of shoes that you love but that hurts your feet. They bleed and cause blisters yet you wear them anyway. You think the money or time invested is now worth the pain. So many hours pounding the streets in them. The pain never fades, it burrows and claws its way into every moment, crushing stone as you walk. Time moves on, leaving bitter trails stained with blood, a journey harder than once thought. Your worry weighing down, as peace is not coming back, and it cost more than you originally bought. In the end, you come to know every season. Every why. Every when. Every how. Reason will be an uninvited guest. Knowledge will begin to feel like treason. How could you not know? Until this very moment. With death lingering like a demon.

© Delia Ross. 2019

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