My vessel

Rushing down a river that flows in 2 separate directions. I pass boulders and hollows on either side. Keeping my hands steady on the wheel. I coerce my vessel diffidently through rapids winding to the horizon. My dreamlike setting depicts a land foreign to me. With each glance a vast expanse of history and knowledge is thrust upon me in great strides. This subtle thought breaches my mind with such force that I may weep in its enormity. Firmly grasping the wheel and following the bends of the mighty tributary almost instinctively, without weary of faltering my path. The sun is set far behind me, eclipsed by the loom of mountains cascading in all directions. The world is blanketed in warm shades of amber and metallic gold. Deep canyons and crevices pull the land apart like wounds. Passing through my ears is an assortment of ballads wrought by a band I could only imagine as gypsies. All this is only a moment of contentment in an array of disorganized thinking. For within seconds my mind collapses as my worries of burden flood over my collective thought. Entrancing me in disarray yet again. I yearn to feel the light of life within me. To know what it feels like to have a steady span of compassion. A prophetic worshiper once told me of a vision she had. This vision was of myself. In her prophecy she explained me as a broken mirror. Still whole, yet cracked like a sheet of ice over a pond. And that one day my cracks would seal themselves. Mending my broken soul. It feels as if this were told to me a century ago. For even now my heart is heavy and my sight is unclear. But, being the optimist that I am, my hope never subsides. It guides me and pierces my actions. I regard my past with sultry view, behold my present with awe, and steer myself to a future with an auspicious end.

Aaron Mitchell.