An Alley Cat Howl of Truth
Confronting our own truth can be a shadowed journey.
Truth, like a screeching alley cat, stalked the putird alleys of my mind. I am not with out darkness, without smears on my bruised and tarnished soul. My existance is not unblemished and yet a purity of desire surges and pulses in the corners, in the wisps of my intentions.
With knotted and furred thoughts the alley cat of Truth tangled with the odious mess that littered the recesses of life.
Prowling with soft tentative steps, I watched as it crept through the excrement of a human’s hopes.
Its footprint was draped with cutting, slashing talons. The talons were quick to rip out and lash at that which held promise, eager to see it tumble into insignificance.
Fangs, dripping with impossibilities, were eager to puncture hope and leave it writhing in a slow agony of gutterside death.
Truth was silent.
Truth was lingering.
Truth’s persistence knew it would decimate the those who chanced to cross its path. Peering into the shadows of the alley, I saw truth abruptly scuttle in avoidance and then suddenly whip around to face me, challenge me. I felt drawn to the danger. It baited me with its piercing glare.
