standing at the precipice of spring, winter's chill is only a numb recollection on the edge of existence
standing on the steps of spring, heated anticipation radiates through the open door to summer
standing on the verge of spring, winter's whipping winds are blown away by summer's coming breeze
standing on the crest of spring, the darkness of winter's valley seems less dense
standing on the lip of spring,
summer's intesifying kiss brushes my being
standing on the golden glow of spring, the warm of summer permeates my spirit and erases winter's chill
standing on the cusp of spring, winter's icy embrace is irrelevant
standing on the bud of spring, summer's fragrant bloom is entrancing
standing on the promise of spring, winter's time has come to pass and summer's time must come to be

wanderings have ceased, though no end has been reached. this, of course, could be attributed to the fact that there is no end in sight. miles to go before i sleep and all that.

i have, however, been further enlightened to the circumstances of life and found more questions than i left with. but those too shall be answered when the time comes. those few questions that finally found the solutions sought we only replaced exponential stand-ins of a more difficult degree. comforts were purchased at the price of more substantial doubts and anticipations finally pushed to fruition were followed by deeper longings.

but yet and still, i am here. the temporal and tentative nature of said presence is not to be overlooked, but as far as the present, it is all that can be offered and as far as the future it is all that can be hoped for. and that at least, is something.

those amusingly philosophical musings aside, on to more irrelevant contemplations.... so, allow me to ponder this mask. we all wear one to some extent, but mine is carefully crafted yet in serious danger of cracking. the more important question about said masks is whether or not they are thrust upon us or we pick them up of our own will. as of late, i've been thinking that the truth is a combination of things. at first, it is probable that we select a mask that we feel will make us most acceptable to the viewer. and as that mask is accepted as our face and others seem pleased, we decide to continue to wear it. however, the in the meantime, as we are fearfully gripping this mask, clutching it to ourselves so that nobody can see whatever it is the mask is intended to hide, others are becoming comfortable with the person that is being projected. in some cases, this person is an ideal of sorts. a polished veneer that lacks the dimension of a human, but seems to appease the masses so that they avoid dealing with the humanity of an individual, which perhaps saves them time or simply allows them to avoid the unwelcome compulsion to examine their own humanity. the problem with this is that the longer one wears this mask, it is both harder to maintain and yet harder to put aside. we struggle to maintain the image set forth, yet we enjoy that other people believe this image to be real. so, what are ya' gonna do? sacrifice your sanity or your perception (which, as unfortunate as it is, has ramifications towards your sanity)? i'll let you know what i decide. well, as soon as it is safe to make a decision.

i am a deserter. i have turned my back on them. my heart is hard and i don't care.

or perhaps, i do care and this is merely proof of yet another area where i don't count enough to be considered. i'm the pride of the world, yet nobody really stops to pay me any more than lip service because everyone and their turmoil is more important than mine. what happens to me is of little consequence, because i've "already made it." there's no more need to be concerned over me. take her to the pasture and leave her. we've no more to do for this one.

honestly, i understand a portion of the logic. i understand that the squeaky wheel gets to grease. but what happens when that wheel learns that? they continue to squeak, because they know someone will come running. no need to actually make any efforts to hold on to the grease they've been generously given. there is a never-ending supply available to them. this, however, further impacts the already parched, yet silent wheel because not only are they in unfortunate circumstances, they must continually watched aid come to others and must bare the brunt of the frustrations of those who are always on call to give grease to that fucking squeaky wheel.

and really, i suppose, it's in part my fault. i've always seen this coming. i've always known it was too much. but maybe i've got a martyr complex like they've always said. or maybe i couldn't stand to see the need go unfilled. either way, they've taken full advantage of what i've foolishly given. i take it all in and with no one to return the favor, i will hold on to it until it one day causes my own destruction. and no one will ever know the reasons behind my combustion. nor, perhaps, will they care.