He couldn’t tell you when it began. The heaviness of his heart with no place to go besides his head. The muddied mind and strong spirit; his direction in life was set ablaze
He couldn’t tell you what went wrong growing up, He forgot about the sexual assault and bad things seemed to come in intervals. It was the rhythm of life. He worked hard in the hot sun digging holes for the trees he would never see. How it foreshadowed his future of the investments he would have no return.
He couldn’t tell you why people began to leave, no matter how hard he fought for them. He became a little older and allowed them to leave without much of a fight.
So, he began to write in order for him to feel all he ever needed; Peace.
He’s always done it right. with no whiskey and no line to stimulate his mind. He needed a word, an insight, and something to ponder. He needed the weights or a place to run to clear the things within his mind. If you put weight on his back, it slowed his pace but proved his resilience.
Growing up, he took on responsibility and stood straighter than others and kept a watchful eye while others closed theirs. Maybe he should have lived a little and didn’t have a serious attitude on life. That all the pain needed some meaning. That it didn’t go in vain; to prove some type of worth to himself. He wanted to be a leader among men and make hard decisions when no others thought they needed too.
Morality riddled his mind and wonder what it meant to be good and humble and that being bad was subjective and convenient
He was punished like Sisyphus pushing that boulder until it rolled over. With a name like Hercules and life named Zeus, you needed pain with a story worth telling. At the peak of the hill he could hear clapping and looked to the side and seen a little boy clapping. It brought tears in his eyes to see the glint of his. Of his youth and reminder of all that he wanted to be. He looked down the hill and began again. Give him the pain, he has a story worth telling.
Inspired Knight 