In front of me cascaded an obstacle of all men's existence. A timeless piece
of architecture owed nearly everything, from every one. Gazing upon its
rigid streamlines of construct, I imagine the liquid of my very soul eroding
the bonds of its individuality. I can see the cracks upon its face holding
nothing but the chains of a crucible unto I wish my eyesight could
penetrate. Curiosity killed the cat, but time killed this lion. Nervous;
hand shaking, I realized the reality of my predicament. As if all blindness
was swept away from the bowels of my alacrity and even my dexterity, color
came into the fray.

Oh the frivolity of reminiscence! Answers beheld only by the tongue of my
creators, the final judgments on all that is my life. Answers that would
otherwise be articulately crucified by the thoughts weaving each other in my
very heart. Ah, yes. Black! The very shade of all things but the sun itself.
And yet, I felt daring. "Nay!" says the child in the corner, "black is truly
a color good sir."
What does it matter! I found myself in argument with this young boy.

Hands. The very creators of the obstacle in the path, as true as the mother
whose breast I was nurtured on, and the father who cradled my pride whilst I
played.

My hands rose. Tense from a day's work in the ever going game of life that
these cruel titans beseech upon us. Sweat bleeds its way unto my brow, and
even down the rim of my core unto the person in which I claim my seats to.
Inches away from the massive monster, I thought to breathe again.

Hesitance slows the adventure. Patience dawns the return of mankind.

The skin of my forearm lifts itself from my side. As painful as the
destruction of Rome, I doubt not. Fingers feel the texture of the behemoth,
and shivers of senses return to deliver the message. I play upon my morals
and strengths in the face of war, and thrust my palm unto its surface, only
to be met with the same conviction. Damn the luck. Damn the curious cat.
Clear minded, analyzation begins again, as if I all I touch is new as the
day I was delivered unto this world. Oh how I wept!

Rough, coarse cracks reminded not of the ridges of the pine cones
surrounding my fair feet, but that of the Vesuvius, or how so I imagined

As if on command, leagues of my attention sprang forth to my hands, coming
to one realization.

I am no lion.

 
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