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Crying Out By: Jeff Moore on 12/27/2002; 1:04 AM The sound begins somewhere low and deep, yet far away. It is guttural and old, as though coming from a man wearing skins: Standing in a tribal battlefield, the death of his progeny fresh in the air. He screams doubts of his understandings, and damnations of his gods. But this is a modern man in skins of denim and polyester. He is normally strong and impervious; he is civilized and in control of himself. Yet, he bares a hash mark on his heart for every tear he didnt let anyone see. Every dream he didnt fulfill, and every pain he left unshared, has scarred him. These and every love ever lost, and every death ever survived are now recalled. Each is securely fixed to the noise as it rises in his throat. He is at once lost to his own civility, and found in the release of an ancient man. Each tendon stands visible in his neck, and his heart aches as though stopping. His eyes are hot, stung by the air, fighting back the swell of his own salty tide. He squeezes them closed, forcing the world away, and granting himself solitude, Like a child imagining himself invisible when closing his own eyes. There are no others to judge him weak, nor any others to soothe him, now. His chest spasms against a deeper breath than his lungs can normally hold. His body compresses his insides and everything he has stored away there. His throat, always able to swallow back these episodes before, relents, And the cry finally comes, piercing his many silent years.
RE: Crying Out By: Michelle on 12/27/2002; 3:48 AM Nice, descriptive piece of work. I can actually visualize the man and all his pain. Good job yet again Jeff.
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