I feel as if I can’t catch my breath. Lap after lap after lap I am continually running. The trees’ leaves are in that pinnacle fallish glow, and the illuminating sky mirrors the vibrant colors of the earth. But I can’t get out. I’m boxed in without an exit. My selfish being lusts for worldly pleasure, and my pride prevents me from admitting the anger that births from the containment. It’s beautiful on the outside, mesmerizing. I am made to be out there, to be free, to love, help. But I’m in, wrapped ever intricately into the very fibers of blackness. It awoke when I awoke. My eyes opened and no sooner as the interpretation of light entered through my retinas also did the revelation of dark. The comfortable reality of routine ever battles the fervent desire to escape. I could get caught. Anxiety, fear, worrisome predicaments followed by reasonable conclusions. It sounds safer to wait, stay. It’s easier. The colors though: joyful orange, ardent red, brilliant yellow overlaid by fading blue and purple.  The artistic hopelessness of doubt is a refined luxury for those content with staying put, but to those willfully thirsting for the empty pit in their soul to be filled with something more wholesome than evil, it is utter sorrow. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Whose here? As I open the door, superiority stands before me. Luminosity fills the room.

            “I hear that you are thirsty?” He questions with sovereignty.

            Struck with a state of awe, I respond, “Yes Sir, very!”

            “Then why have you kept your door shut for so long?” He asks with humbleness.

            “Me?” I respond with confusion.

            “Yes, I have heard your prayers and have been knocking for 18 years, but the lock is on the inside.”