Quitter??
All I know is that from season to season of this life I am the numbered man. At times my prisoner’s sorrow, cares for its own and not me….. No more of silent moon light on that path. A path beside a city’s river. Where the dirt lane curves just so; tilting its hat nearer to the flowing purple water. Where a gray wall of large stone leaned, letting the moon light give off a warming bounce. Ahhh, the reaching down of the trees singing limbs. In such a reach the warm wind pushing so brought a song….. And as I would approach the girl, her eyes waiting, inviting. I can still see my arms wrapping around her waist, a slow pull….. and out lips meet. Then that path would be a lovers complete….. But nay, nay, they took that place, that path, away and away from me. Now you can call me a match. Just a single lit match. Ohhh, nice to look at, bright along with the striking aroma circling….. Then, I, the match begin to fall. So many watch my descent, down and down. Yet, they think soon I shall just go dark….. No, I am not quitter. Never will the vast darkness take me. For once you think the black is forever more….. I become a great blaze. A blaze that begins a destroying of the fourth world, prison. And I promise this, I’ll quit.