Letter to Anybody

by: Edwin L. Cordevilla

I didn't know you were serious about it.
I could have known. I thought
it was a mere game we played all these years.
Yet, I was wrong. I thought it was a design
you devised, but no, someone else made you
conceive the plan you'd planned.
Now, here I am, trying to hold on to the image
you've thrown my way. It's not
for long when music of fax machines,
of rattling keyboards, and of voices on the telephone
would drown the picture, the mood, the mysticism
you pin before my eyes, so I understand.
You have cleared the way for me all right.
But, for what price? We all pretend,
at least I know this fact, yet our pretensions
become true enough, so true these myths
become realities unangling on different spheres.
How can one resist destiny? All paths are taken
except this one you've prepared for me -
since there's no taker, I understand.
I followed the clues, the metaphors you've placed
in strategic points, for ponderation.
Here I am, face to face with a mere image
soon to fade. So much is expected from me.
Did i pass the test? How long could your
truth withstand other truths?
I have come a long way to be here
where you expected me to be. I am
what you've imagined me to be,
a man in his prime, romanced
by the wisdom of darkness.
I have relied to much
on pain and anguish.