2 - Wrong steps

 

 

I walk from this place to that place, waiting for the lightning to strike, aching to know what it is I did to deserve this.

The sun glistens off barbed wire with each sunrise, telling me that I am still alive, while I never know exactly when I will not be.

If lamb’s blood could save me as it once did my people, I would find a lamb to slay, even killing myself so that my son or daughter might survive.

I no longer believe in angels or salvation, only in the dangling sword that hovers over me as I walk – the point of which will thrust into me if I move too much this way or that, or if I don’t move in a way they want me to.

But they never tell me which way is which, so I live guessing if this step or that will be my last.

And at times, I wish I knew which was which so I might take the wrong step if only to cease this endless need to guess.

So I go from this place to that, from door to fence, and back, hoping for that final step that brings an end to all those wrong steps I have already taken.



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