I hear sounds of weeping reflecting from walls.
The pain from the past is here now.
The faint memory becomes an avalanche,
burying me in sorrow.

I fear,
sometimes,
I think too much of death.
As if,
when it comes,
if it's not the way I want it to be,
or had imagined it,
in that last breath,
I may feel disappointment.
My broken,
dirty soul,
will remain,
to rot inside out.

The words spe11 themselves out on the page.
The ink spi11s itself out to the page.
I wi11 refi11 myself with careless young age.
I wi11 no longer be a programed slave.
What is to believe?
What is to have faith?
Could the answers for me be on a complex date?

Is 11-11-11 my gateway?
To be free?
Painless?
Happy?
Fu11?
Off the hook?
Enlightened?
Loved?
Accepted?
Forgiven?
What if there was a way...
...to a better place?
What if I know the way?...
...could you remember my face?
11-11-11 comes for me.

Gateway.
Austin J. Frick
Age Of Reason Is Now.
11-2-'11