Pomp and Circumstance

The sky's gleaming gray and smells of upcoming storm. It rumbles with Earth's low chuckle and flashes with his lamplight home. I hope he finds the fire lit and the the coffee warm and his mother smiling. I hope his tears never fall.

It's funny how when I let this sit for a day he's sunny again. I guess he found what he was looking for.

I wish they called it commencement instead of graduation. It's not so much moving on as moving forward. The truth is, we're all still looking. So why pretend we're found instead?

In three days I will don a cap and gown and walk a few hundred paces through an audience filled with family and friends and smiling faces I do not know. I'll stand beside a couple friends and a couple more acquaintances and another hundred or so people who walked the halls with me once in a while, maybe every day. But does it matter?

I do not know the answer.

I do not know many answers. Maybe I should start making a list.

But the unknown fascinates me, you know. I love the thrill of discovery. There's such potential. There's such possibility. There's no boundaries on the unknown or the unimaginable, because I will never have all the answers. It's liberating in a way.

I'm going back to the beginning. I want to understand what it was like before innocence and why we believe the Garden's still green.

I need my nail polish to remind me of apples, not blood.

Why?

The sun isn't setting. The world is turning. We're trusting gravity to keep us grounded. Sometimes, I wish I could feel it, feel the earth spin. Sometimes, I think I need that reminder- our world isn't as stable as we'd like to believe.

Something has me doubting tonight. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it. Something's going wrong. It's in the way I can't get comfortable. It's in the lack of breeze. It's in the weight of my body. I'm heavier tonight. My thoughts are weighing me down.

The sky was pink earlier... and I thought of blood. Does the sky hurt when she bleeds? Does she realize what she looks down upon? Is the rain tonight her tears? Is the thunder her anguish, her grumble, her cry to God? Is He listening? What about her lightning? Is she begging for truth as much as I?

I wish a bolt of that lightning would strike me, reach out its tendrils and remind me of what's real.