They will try to blind you, and claim that they are truthful. They will shape a world for you at the end of a long journey, promising all will be well. Being a human, we believe them and we walk. We take the trip that swears happiness and success, the one they have paved in front of us.
The journey is a dark tunnel with the inevitable light at the end. In the beginning, it is nothing but a pinprick, a speck of white on a black canvas, a lifetime away. With uneven steps towards it, the light burns fiercer, surrounded by oblivion. Soon, you are walking forward by your own two feet, or so you think. It becomes a march, by trying to change pace, it is apparent that this is no ordinary journey, for you are not in control. This is something else, a play, and you have become a puppet.
This dark claustrophobic tunnel is a place called life, a place of deception and fragile hearts so easily crippled. Where you can spread your soul as far as you like with kindness and love, but if you do not pull the strings for once, a puppet is all you will be. A lifetime of a journey later, when your success is at its peak, and you have danced their dance, the light is within your reach. As you get closer, it overwhelms you, shining through the darkness with a beautiful glow that vows truth, love, and the one promise that is sought for the most, but is always broken; Freedom.
Light floods through the huge space, it leaks into your body, through your skin, into your veins, spreading like a virus, infecting your thoughts, willing you to stay in the light, but not to go in it. But the curious are the curious, and there is always a need to go a little closer than most wouldn’t even dare to think of.
Nothing lasts forever, and promises are always broken, there is never any full truth, or trust, or belief, because all of these things are the light. The tiny pinprick of light that gives so much and never asks for anything in return. Just another lie, another half truth, another thief that steals something away when you’re not looking. It overshadows reality and paints over it with a clean, new brush. But there will always be a first painting underneath, if you look closely, you can still see where the lines used to be.
It burns at your skin, but your feet still move forward towards the opening, towards freedom. It tickles your nerves and excites your heart. This is finally the moment where you can soar the way you have only done so in your dreams, there is no fear, no chains, no strings of a puppet, nothing to hold you back-
Through all the light, they finally bleed through to your eyes. Bars. Cold, metal bars in the warm, warm hope filled light. Just as it turns out, the light was never there, the truth was never there and there was never any freedom.
It’s all rules and paved paths and leashes and guide ropes to a promise, which shatters as easily as glass. “All will be well”? All is well when you make it well, not when it is promised. All is well whenever it is wished for, and not a moment sooner. Let not your light be given, but see it in reality, in the darkness, not one doorway of hope, but a scatter of goodness, white against black, stars in the night