The Shoebox

The toil and turmoil all seems in vain. Vanity, a lost cause. I pray for deliverance, for strength and divine intervention. I pray and I pray and I pray. Retrospection smothers me, irrationality’s killing me, and introspection shows me the distinction, the choice to be made. This time though the old wise mind has made its decision. Its mind over matter now. The body must move on as one whole component. The unstoppable heart is still playing the sly game of treachery. But the unwavering mind resurfaces the guilt to affirm my decision. The guilt confuses me. Renders me claustrophobic. I choose it no more. Playful heart continues to disagree. I place the reflections of retrospection in a shoebox. Voracious guilt has been eschewed away from fire, water, earth, air and the cosmos. Faraway from anything that will nourish it. But they will rest close to me in a shoebox inside my closet as a constant reminder of slanders and scandals; of detours and deviations. The shoebox, the name of my savior and my inspiration.