Molar & Canines

The Right Company

Thursday, March 5, 2026

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In my possession there rests a melancholy in me which will never see the light of day, nor be heard by those whose hearts glow tender and warm. Of golden certainty and of iron rule, the depths of my seclusion know no bounds. I am a lizard, stuck without warmth inside a ceaseless abyss, or a bird whose wings have been broken and clipped. I am like that of a stag whose legs have been fastened in place by the eyes of a panther, or a petrified mouse, stuck in the open from the gaze of a pitiless raptor.

Oh, to be but a tear falling along the warmth of a cheek, or a water droplet gliding across the petals of a flower. Life glares at me like a lioness would a wildebeest! Though my lungs are strong and my legs can carry me far, I can only pray not to tarnish each breath I take, lest the lioness might spring out for me in ambush.

I am a man of famine. One of assured capture. Whether it be the old age or a wound from a previous snare which exhausts me, each step I take is tracked, and each exhale I breathe is marked. Of endurance and patience a predator is made, and I am her prey born only of fatigue. I am a molar surrounded by canines! The misfortune which follows the stalked, like me, measures the pursuit on my heels!

Still, a predatory gaze I am accustomed to since being hunted is my commonplace—I know a hunter when I see one as I have been brought up by carnivores ... but there are so many. They size me up and break me down, waiting patiently for any opportunity to humble, suppress, and gnaw. Their piercing eyes and forked tongues fasten an icy coffin around who I am as though the depths of my character was nothing more than a few tears shed in a ceaseless rain.

My conviction dwindles in the face of adversity! My resolve crumbles in the onlook of disparagement! I am but a straw man wading through a field of thorns whose body is torn away great pieces at a time. All that becomes of me is threads and silence. Like a flag perched at the summit of a mountain, the certitude of my character may tell a story, but it is also easily forgotten the moment a back is turned to descend the mountain homeward bound.

So, I will greet books and the stars like old friends. I will treat words as my castle and thoughts as my mote. Solitude will once again reach out and encompass me in her snowy embrace as her hold on me seems to warm with every passing year. I will build a place where the preying eyes which lie in wait may not prey on me. Amen.