It’s a silent sound of a roaring flame that cuts deeply into your psyche.
I once was victorious, drank the wine and sang the songs. I once felt like a champion. Where has that gone?
It’s all at once when the fire within begins to cool.
First, a slight breeze and then a full on storm.
You walk tall, momentarily, but after a while you find yourself crawling down Broadway, where the neon lights shine and the songs are sung. The desnudos walk, painted ladies and costumed desperation. Elmo, Spiderman and Elvis.
This city once shouted your name, now it turns aside as you enter…
Man sitting on the sidewalk, hungry and alone. You place a dollar bill when he isn’t looking so he won’t be witness to the “pity charity.”
Walking across Roebling’s masterpiece, you stop midway and look up, then stare down towards the river.
The sun is almost gone and the chilly October temperature has filled the room.
Front Street…the night has arrived and you cannot remember the day or if it really happened.
Yet that searing feeling within is creeping up on you like a cancer filled with failure and debt to who you once believed were meant to be.
You feel so alone, although you live in a carnival of love…yet…
Your phone is silent and the door is left ajar, maybe a stranger or someone will come in and tell you its just a mistake, come on inside and let’s talk.
It’s the silence that burns you, that lights the flame which destroys you and any sense of who you truly once thought you were.
The Stranger in the reflection, only confirms your intuition that you are not who you think you are, will be or ever was…
It’s all just words, a dream or a naive belief that there is a true Creator behind every event, every failure or success…
So the embark on an exploration of stolen emotions, hopes and dreams of the man who sits on that street who cannot understand how he wandered into this place and time.
“Can I go back and choose again?” He cries, prays and pleads…
You can’t go back and change your mind, you cannot go back in time.
The clock only moves forward, it never turns back, until it will, at one point, stop.
“Keep on going, it’s coming soon. ” You hear whispered to you and you hold your breath and wait… Until you can hold it no more.
Somewhere in New York a clock has stopped moving, spinning around… Six minutes to freedom…