There is just enough to give the semblance of something,
a dark, decrepit landscape, loose rocks with dark sand all draped
with the lazy light of perpetual twilight.
There is but one notable feature, a tree, warped and gnarled,
it’s hard to imagine it was ever alive,
or how it came to possess the mangled posture it now holds.
An old man lays against the tree, he is so exhausted,
he wants nothing more than to die, yet this place will not let him.
Approaching him is a man, younger, but in a similar position.
“Get out.” barks the old man.
“Why, I don’t want to, and I don’t even think you want me to.” They have
had this conversation many times.
“Get out!” he says, beginning to rise in anger, before settling back
into his unceasing melancholy.
“Why do you hate me.” He doesn’t want to know why, he even knows he doesn’t.
“Why do you still talk.” He knows the answer,
they have had this conversation many times.
“Because I want to.” That’s what he tells himself.
“I’m sorry.” He truly is.
“You’re forgiven.” They will have this conversation many times.