Its been 7 months.
We feel it.
The new year beckons.
The flickering light at the end of the tunnel wanes.
Truth was shared.
Validation felt.
The exiled, exhale.
Intertwined fingers release, ever so slightly.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The scales have been weighed.
HE has been left wanting.
HE will not be dethroned easily.
Defiance marches on.
Wagons circle.
HE will make a stand.
Pastors speak wisdom.
Wise council is given.
The tsunami of condemning victim statements washes over HIM.
The mast is barely visible above water now.
The vessel continues to fill.
The integrity of the structure was breached long ago.
The ranks have thinned.
The remaining skeleton crew bail water in vain.
The MASTER tightens HIS grip atop.
Why did we desert HIM?
Why did we not go without a fuss?
Why did we not lift the rug and conceal it there like the others?
Some have taken life boats to safety.
Many crew members left months… years ago.
They saw the treacherous waters ahead, inside and out.
The remaining few puncture holes in life boats.
Escape seems a fantasy.
Denial screams louder than reality.
A lone violinist’s haunting notes echo in the night.
The last awes man strains, as the decrepit vessel mindlessly circles in vain.
The soloist futilely tries to escape, only to be hauled back on deck by the rope securely attached to the CAPTAIN.
The waters rise.
The CAPTAIN frantically examines HIS surrounds.
Are they waters of redemption or regret?
It’s the CAPTAIN’S call.
Recorded and produced by The Willow Tree for Compound Fracture
