Victim (draft)

On the road from Cadiz back to Bacolod,

traveling faster than nostalgia

can catch up with,

I am struck dumb by the changing scenery before me:

cane fields standing erect, at full attention

under the gentle warmth of this good day’s sun

and then shifts to bare land, just recently harvested.

It is faster than my mind can process.

The sky, a watery blue, accentuated by a grand expanse

of playful clouds that refused to be defined

by not staying still.

 

Everything in nature shifts and changes.

Everything begins as a seed, blooms, and then

eventually falls back to the earth.

 

I am here, in this car, a passenger

traveling from one moment to the next;

in every way a victim of time and my own choices.

 

No, not a victim.

 

This universal force neither rewards

nor takes prisoners.

All that happens between our beginning

and the final moment

has no consequence.

 

We all share the same fate

in the end.

 

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