Part 4: The Winding Staircase

Peter: I refute my

chosen path.

I can't settle this feeling

in my gut, that speaks

and rings just as clearly

in my head, as the words

that my father has branded me with.

We have lost so much,

and yet he seems so

indifferent to the fact

that I am his only son.

And yet here I am,

obeying, knowing that I should not,

because I've seen his eyes,

they belong to the lion

in the grass waiting patiently.

I refuse to give up ground,

yet this concrete sky

and steepening steps seem

to slither and curve like the snake

that has found its way

deep into my chest.

This is my glory,

this is my past,

and whatever waits beneath

will become all that i have left.

Alex: This is no longer your burden

to carry alone,

as your guilt and worry

fills the cup to its fullest,

you become the gentleman,

set out to purge the walls

of all that contains him

and as your pulse quickens,

purloining your bravery,

your eyes begin to open.

Your fear, is our fear.

And our hands embrace yours,

shaking, seeking some sort

of relief to set ourselves apart

from the pale light of our lamps

and into the blinding warmth of the sun.

Peter: This constant rush of thoughts,

smudges like lights in the fog.

The wet ink, touched too soon;

my courage resembles their form.

I wish for the storm,

because I welcome the waves.

I want to be lost in this sea,
carried away from this place.

Alex: We wish to return to

what we once knew.

Before wars defined men,

and children were strangers

to death.

Peter & Alex: This is my life,

a light flickering in a gust of wind