Tag: new fiction

  • Beautiful

    In a grassy meadow,

    on a lush hill,

    under a tree that had seen many springs before this one,

    sat a boy and a girl.

     

    They sat on a blanket

    covered in shade and

    pondered God’s creation.

     

    “What is beauty?” asked the girl, “How does it affect me?”

    The boy took a second to reply,

    “Beauty is wonder and amazement. It affects you like the tide on the ocean.

    Like a mad rush of eloquent elegance and stifled pride.”

     

    “Who talks like that?” she inquired, smiling.

    “I do,” he stated, “When I feel inspired.”

    “What inspires you?” she asked.

    “Beauty in nature,

    that God hath brought to me on this day and those before.”

    “What beauty?”

     

    “The vibrancy of the fallen leaves in autumn.

    The fresh and clean snow of winter.

    The smell of budding flowers in spring.

    The spray of the ocean’s tide.

    The rain that pounds on the earth.

    The wind that kisses my neck.

    The sun that caresses my cheek.

    The moon that lights my way,

    without it I would be lost.”

     

    They lay upon the blanket in silence, watching the clouds float by and the wind glide across the grass.

    Above, in the tree, spiders sit catching bugs in their elegant nets.

    The chirps of new born chicks upend the silence into a blissful joy that only Father can quite understand.

     

    The boy turned to the girl and said,

    “Though, when I think of the most beautiful thing,

    two stand out.”

     

    Number two is the cherry trees in Japan.

    Once the cherries bloom,

    and when the blossoms choose to fall,

    their grace can not be surpassed by any ballerina.

    No dance quite like the sakura bloom.

    To see them flutter and dance upon the winds is quite a scene.

    They twirl like dancers until the last one ends,” he paused for a second or two,

    thinking about all that was said and the images waltzing in his mind,

     

    “I suppose it is like a beautiful agony.

    Once they land upon the world, they are nothing.

    They shall never dance again and will dissipate into the earth.”

    She stared in wonder.

    The thought of dancing among the petals would be delightful to any.

    And the thought of a beautiful agony seemed so sad.

     

    ‘Never to dance again.’

     

    She wandered in her mind for a time,

    until he broke the silence again.

    “Do you want to know what number one is?” he asked.

    She turned back to him, waiting, for what could possibly be more beautiful than that.

    “What?” she asked.

    He looked at her and his cheeks reddened,

    “You.”

    She smiled at him and closed the chasm between them.

    They embraced.

  • In Response to Your Headaches

    In your life there will be days

    When you wish that things

    Would never change.

    Growing up

    Can be a pain

    And when it rains

    It certainly pours.

     

    Life will make you sore.

    It rarely gives

    And mostly takes.

    You see your mistakes

    And the places they trace

    And all that leads

    Is another wasted day.

     

    Pursue the dream!

    See the unseen!

    Do the unimaginable!

    And make it undeniable!

     

    Lies, you say…

    They never were.

    I dare because I know you’re scared.

    Your head will heal

    And I never said the best would be.

     

    Like you said,

    “If that were true,

    Then what would we do?”

  • Headaches

    I was told that this would happen.

    That this was how it was to be.

    I was also told that I could choose,

    And find a place that’s right for me.

     

    A place that gives me what I need

    And everything that I desire.

    A place where I was told to run,

    And feed my internal fire.

     

    I find that you had lied to me,

    And now I’m feeling stung.

    How could you fill me with such delight,

    And then strike me with your wicked tongue.

     

    How dare you!

     

    The time it took for me to see

    All the lies you said to me

    Have left me bleeding

    Internally.

     

    My head is cracked

    And I feel the strain.

    The words you said

    Caress my brain.

    But my experience expressed

    A different pain.

     

    I curse your thoughts and what you fed to me.

    But I know you only thought the best would be.

     

    If that were true,

    Then what would we do?

  • Bat

    I have never seen

    A more interesting being

    One that frightens so.

    Its leathery flying,

    Of course I’m implying,

    A creature of nighttime flow.

     

    It is a bat.

    Like putting wings on a rat

    And they come in different sizes

    Some large, some small

    Though none of them at all

    Are warlocks under disguises

     

    I shall not dismiss this completely

    My experience shows clearly

    That wickedness knows no end

    A clever disguise

    No feign surprise

    From bat to person whose bent

     

    Still I love these creatures,

    They share many features

    That describe my life to a T.

    Furry and cuddly,

    Draped in something ugly,

    Yes, that is what best describes me.

  • Spinning Webs

    Tempting though it may be

    To spin a web so elegantly,

    I have to stop and wonder

    What use does it have for me?

     

    Those ones in my life

    Who love to provide

    Some wondrous, fantastic, ugly lie

    To keep me by their side.

     

    It’s a wonder they don’t have eight legs,

    To juggle such a piece.

    Spinnerets dancing from one thread to another,

    To keep many from finally knowing

    The person behind the veil.

     

    A veil so nicely spun

    That it is hard to tell,

    Where it begun?

    Where one ugly line became several,

    And several became legion?

     

    A legion of threads

    In the hands of a master…

    Juggling the balls,

    Manipulating an ugly eloquence,

    To stop any sort of threading disaster.

     

    How do you keep the thread spinning?

    What is your secret?

    Do you truly have eight arms?

    Are you really a human?

     

    I wonder sometimes,

    How those who spin webs,

    Turn out to be?

    Possibly great, ugly politicians?

     

    Though it comes to pass,

    For those who forget,

    Which thread is juggled for whom?

    Mistakes are made,

    This I will say,

    Will never end in much grace.

     

    So tighten your veil,

    Those who spin webs,

    Thread it, many a thread.

    Because when it happens

    That your veil may fail,

    Your face will be ugly instead.