The voice calls out but it hasn’t been heard in months. There’s a silence that allows coldness to grow. . .Manipulating thoughts have far passed, trauma still created by what’s been bottled up inside, there’s no reason to hide behind the tragedy that encompasses life. Heartbeats, pounding, louder, harder, breathing. . .flashback to the times when mornings were filled with happiness and laughter but remnants of death continue to seep through. . .The crossroads or ways to escape because hell on earth is a destructive place. . . A place where low is not a place to go or a place to grow but a place in which so many stay for reasons we may never know. . .If low is where so many dwell, then I wonder at times will we ever reach a place that is inviting. . .The place we see in fairytales. . .Quiet thoughts become loud actions, loud actions becomes reckless behavior and instead of living out loud, there is a place designed in our minds where we go back to the edge where we first fell off of the path. . . Straight, narrow, winding, mysterious because we never get to see where the next step takes us until we make the wrong turn or are we ever right. . .Right in the way we speak, right in the way we see? Do we ever get to feel right in what we do or how we feel? The days turn us into savages vying and fighting to mean something more in this time we spend on this side of life. . .Looming till we get to that place. . .the place where hell doesn’t dwell. . .the place we are trying to know so well. . . and so we sell ourselves and dreams to the unimportant things forgetting there are streams of fresh water flowing through the mountains that are our darkest nights. . .and remembering that God gives us joy that comes with the morning light.