William Crowell

Who I'd like to meet:

Just Hold Me Not many have ever known and if I tell - who would believe? There's nothing I can call my own not even the things I have achieved. It's always better that way All that is aching inside It's better for it to stay - covered up with hurt's pride. All in good time I will open the gate of this little heart of mine in a moment of fate. For a soul that's been torn and a heart controlled by other there's not much you can do But to hold me in your arms The Shadow of Tragedy Night descends, as the shadow of tragedy creeps again across the world. There are no stars, no moon, no beacons set to guide my steps, and even the breeze refuses to move in the darkness of this night. I feel the precipice drawing near. I can sense its breath, not as I sense a stirring wind, but rather in the expansiveness of the unknown depths beyond its unseen edge. One step. Two. How many dare I blindly take? Whispers float on stagnant currents, a cacophony of dire Warnings, without direction, without surcease. "Too near," strains their aria, "You move too near the edge." They fear the precipice, and rightly so. I risk not death, which will come this night whether I step or stay, but gamble instead much more. One step. Two. Which step will be my last? "Caution!" whispers the strident voices, "Lest Liberties be lost within the maw of preservation, and Freedom be sacrificed as we foolishly defeat ourselves." They are right, I concede, taking another step to unseen edge. Yesterday, I listened, tomorrow, I'll listen again, but, this night, I don't care. "Beware!" drums the dissonance, "Lest tragedy be counted in dollars and ratings, with marketing madness the only memories we keep." Yesterday, I listened, tomorrow, I'll listen again, but this night, they use the night to decry what they themselves partake, and I refuse to care. "Take heed!" urges wisdom, "Lest Justice be lost in the stink of retribution, and righteous outrage confused with the cancer of empty hate." I grit my teeth, silently insisting, I don't care, I don't care, I don't care, Yesterday, I did, tomorrow, I will again, but this night I no longer do. One step. Two. If I fall, will the Warnings follow into Hell? Another step becomes a half-step, as I feel the jagged edge of Armageddon prickle the sole of my foot. Five bare toes dangle helplessly over the outstretched hand of eternity. The darkness is no less, the foreboding no more, but still I lower myself to the ground. The precipice caresses the back of my knees, and my feet dangle into an abyss I can sense but never see. I remember to breath again. The sound of my lungs seems deafening, the Warnings finally fade into silence, and sitting here makes me feel like a flitting speck in the eye of God. All my certainties have long since faded with the acrid smoke of tragedy, like the illusions they always were. There is too little justice, far too much hate, and a thousand more Warnings every day of the year. But not tonight. Tonight, I will not care, will not fret, will not plan, and I'll be damned if I'll listen to cries of alarm and disquiet that refuse to honor my quiet. Yesterday, I listened. Tomorrow, I will add my voice to theirs. Tonight, the shadow of tragedy covers my world, and I just want to sit on the edge of eternity and dangle my feet into its void. The shadow masquerading as night enfolds me, and in her reflective embrace I will find what comfort I can. Yesterday, I cared, tomorrow I will care again, but tonight I will simply remember.