I watch the line
The line that follows the road.
You know the line.
Never failing, always there.
Bright, white, pulsing.
Like my heart, it beats and writhes.
It beats a rhythm that I must follow.
A rhythm that my soul dances to.
Ever when I shouldn't, I dance.
Wind tears at me and rain tries to drown me.
But I keep dancing.
I create a beautiful ballet in the rain.
My soul spins around in glee.
I dance among the stars.
And though I am torn by storms, I dance.
I set the pace for all the other dancers.
The other souls that would dance in calm rains.
But I dance in squalls and infernos.
I would dance to the beat of the line in the pits of Hell.
The line is my life source, my pulse.
It ties me to the ground.
Without it I would float away.
So I cling to it.
I watch it pulse and shake.
Then watch it fade.
And my pulse fades with it.
Maybe it will reappear in time.
Then, maybe, my soul will dance again.