In hindsight, my life looks like the little cartoon figure, walking along jauntily, with hands in pockets whistling a merry tune.
All well with his world, not a care in sight
Then suddenly there is an explosion which propels him over a cliff
And the cartoon is empty of him.
Just a road
when I fell over the cliff face, I landed, winded, in a completely different life.
one of shadows and fear; of pain and sorrow
a life lived inside the lives of others.
a life lived one moment at a time
because there was no alternative.
each day a quicksand
no solid ground
and even the inward life seething with unanswerable questions.
the jaunty figure is gone, maybe forever
the life inside other lives is diminishing
the road once travelled, is no more
and i can't find my new one.
there is a little cartoon figure sitting under a tree
gazing into the distance
just wondering . . .