JOY OR DUST

Every wave rushes over the sea in search of a shore; every sperm rushes blindly in search of a patiently waiting egg; blood and thoughts rush through your flesh and mine searching for or protecting the reason we got out of bed this morning; the foolish and the wise treading the same path into empty fields of oblivion or salvation, holding a lifeline of faith or defiance. The battering winds of doubt would grind me into meaningless dust but I have made my choice, have you? Merry Christmas.

Jack