This landscape of heat and dryness

holds a lion’s carcass.

Dead, passive, absent—

only a vessel rotting away,

fallen to the mouths of vultures.

Its mighty, noble spirit

slipped away.

Yet, its carcass

remains a symbol of power.


Who will I be when I die?

A decision I must make.

Will I stand for valor,

or for the wicked?

Will I have a funeral,

or be tossed among the waves of life?


Every moment,

every second,

holds the key to this answer.


But what do you do when you want to die?

When you wish only to be a carcass

consumed by the earth, the vultures, and the seas?

When you feel too tired

to move, to live, to be?


A decision must be made.


It seems the strands of identity

connecting me to my soul

hold the truths that gives me the will to live.


Many times I have asked myself:

Who am I?

And at times,

I still don’t know.

But I have a vision

held in the depths of my heart.

For if I do not strive,

I am nothing but an empty vase

longing to hold a flower.


Dreams are not enough;

you must have a vision—

so tangible it’s already yours.

Lest a dead carcass becomes

the reality slipping into the scrapbook

of the soul.






2 responses to “Drowning

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