Whereunto shall I go, that I may once again escape the agony of pain?

For determination has hereunto begat this journey of mindless desolation.

 The Field Of Yesterday’s Communion

 I lay prostrate and forlorn in the field of yesterday’s communion.

 I marvel not of the atrocities that peel across an immense and bruised sky.

Solace of comfort comes not as I wait in patience for that promised reunion.

And it is unto this in which I have come, and still, oh still, I know not why.

For it is through these pursed lips that I whisper loudly at nothing,

Yet still, it is the silent nothing that befalls me.

 For I… from aside this shallow penitence find so little in which to say.

It is as if the consummation of mayhem has ripped to shreds my clinging hope.

Thus, I marvel not… as the field of yesterday’s communion

Reclaims another lost and weary soul.

J. Allen Wilson © (two) 2006