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Alvin C. Romer

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The Victorian Cage
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As A Man Thinketh
by Alvin C. Romer   
Rated "G" by the Author.
Last edited: Saturday, June 16, 2007
Posted: Saturday, June 16, 2007

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A tender moment of angst spelling a melancholy kind of blue...

Rarely will you see me like this, and I must get it out of my system by just talking about it and sharing thoughts. This is temporary and much tolerable due to circumstances beyond my control. Yes, I know it has been awhile since I last smiled…my mind is heavy with full thoughts. Nevertheless, I'm on the backside of the mountain, looking up from my valley where I'm currently wading shallow waters of river deep concerns. I’m in a dark period of my life, and need to seek more common ground. When I'm like this, I shroud myself with the only refuge most understanding is someone shoulders to cry on, and where time and place demand accountability. How does one go about coping with losing close and loving friends…those that have clung close to the ribs, tugged at the heart, and gave new meaning to significance? I think on things that tend to give me spasms of the mind, dwelling on them, and allowing them to spur me to action. I endeavor to get out of this stupor. As a man thinketh so is he, the adage goes, but who can I turn to?

It's time for me to pay homage to that which will free me from bondage, and allow my cry to be free of this melancholy mood...I'm current, but feel passé and so unnecessary. I'm alone again, naturally feeling the pangs of angst while a sea of nothingness engulfs me. It's akin to that train that chugs up this mountain looking for willing passengers, losing steam each step of the way. The traces of my tears pale against the tracks that this train will traverse, with my thoughts reminding me that I need much more desire with directives that so far has alluded me. I’m looking for destination without being destitute, and better directions to focus for clearer vision. I have a few friends that say they care, but where are they?

As I think and tinker with time, the temerity of fate tests my faith, but I know that I will persevere as long as I can find strength to move. My fellow man in color suffers too; I imagine when things are dank and dark black is the color of choice. Misery loves company, but solidarity in solitude I imagine would give strength to numbers no one wants to count - least of all me at this stage. Okay, I’ve heard that whisper…that still small voice that packs a whale of a punch. When He speaks, one must listen. I have been enlightened! As I stand, the mountain is not so rough after all, the river can now be navigated, and the lilies of the valley are in full bloom! Thank you Dear Lord for joining me on the road to Damascus. You have once again lifted me up from apostasy and righted my true course. As a man thinketh my head indeed is to the sky, and I am alive!

Web Site: The Romer Review



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