The Condemned Man

I feel as though I'm about to be beheaded. Down on my knees, arms tightly bound behind my back with thick hemp rope that cuts deeply into my wrists. I'm sitting back on my heals wearing nothing but loose pajama like pants. My chest parallel to the ground, my head down, waiting for the final blow to fall.

Too many sleepless nights. How many has it been at this point? A dozen? I try to sleep, I crawl into bed each and every night with the hope that tonight will be the night. If I'm lucky, two or three uninterrupted hours of sleep. More likely than not it's an hour on an hour off. There are nights I'm in such a delusional fog I don't even know if I sleep at all. The alarm just brings me from one level of consciousness to another.

I stare out the window at the street below contemplating life and death, sickness and health, love and hate. I yearn for a return to innocence. To be able to view things as a child again, absent any judgment. Where life isn't a matter of being right or wrong and things aren't so black or white. To be able to see life's gifts with fresh eyes and great amazement again. To see hope and possibility in anything and everything....