I see the tractor lights illuminating the fields late into the night this time of year.  I don’t know the circumstances of the particular farmer I am seeing as my guardian tonight, but the lights make me think of my grandfather. He would work the fields after working long days in a dismal courthouse tax office. My grandmother worked equally as hard at keeping the home fires burning. They worked and lived many of their hours apart, but their love for each other, for their family, and for their shared hopes and dreams held them together despite their physical separation.

This is the love I thought I had. An enduring love. A faithful love. But, I was fooled. Maybe my love was never real, maybe it was a victim of addiction, or maybe it was manipulated away by the deadly song of awaiting sirens. I don’t know. I never will.

Somehow, I am supposed to submissively accept my fate. But, I won’t. It’s not in me to give up all I believe to be right in this world and to completely void what has been my life’s purpose these last twenty years. I will not quietly acquiesce to the hand I have been dealt. I rage against it.

My rage, however fiery it feels to my soul, does not reach out to burn those who have wronged me. Believe me, if it could, I would gladly let it. But, their hearts are too cold and calloused to be touched.

Let the fire inside of me be then a beacon to the lost and the loveless since it cannot touch those who lit it. Change this burning hate into love.

Love for those who have lost hope, love for those who are left behind, those who offer their their entire beings to aid another. Let’s leave those who defile the pure hearts of the vulnerable to feel the true darkness of life without the kind and good for they will never know real love.