Prodigality

I need a story, not my own to read, just for a little while

A piece of comfort, a place to rest, over yonder - a little isle

Seek the shore but not the sea 

A land of faraway it seems

Where magic lasts and the birds will fast 

Between the chattering breeze

I need not be there for a while, as he says just not forever

But my faith will rise and will find myself again

In the company of leisure

Intrusions

I'd tell you I've seen the incomplete flashes

Caverns of white obliterate continuity

Rubber snaps resonance back into the soul, eager to convince unconsciousness

Where do these steps lead,

indignant or full of belief?

Hands wrought and worn bear witness, comply, and knead

This ached torpedo forces windows to appear

The chorus beckons likened thoughts

What do you make of it:

- The silence.

- The void.

- The in-between spaces.

Time gathers, lightly

How to once find the orbit as learned again

This searing torpedo won't mistake its guidance

Rippling with indifference where to heal - of expectation! Of worth!

Acquainted with the present,

Stripped from belief

staring out at the auburn canvas

This torpedo is cast open

Visions of Youth

I had dreamed of you

Night after night, the giant swirling black nucleus laying beneath the skull

Pluck, pluck, pluck and rows are gone

Mine own scars gaping without a tear

Wrath and sorrowful express lay in a twisted knot, a conquest not yet fulfilled

Barren and misshapen

But looking back with full fields now

When did I stop seeking for you - the globe of unwanted change?

Wondrous Beings

Sweat pours as the trio ascends through the golden valley, a day much too warm for this undertaking. Ill-equipped yet carrying on as the dust passes beneath. Moments of salvation are founded on the wind. Kneeling for a break, foreign bickers breaks out - why is this necessary? What does this prove? "We won't go on without us this." The final proclamation. Set about your task, your selection, your burden. The ramblings of an older man, embroiled in a life absent of direction, will form the unwarranted epiphany. Granite takes form in their packs as they shoulder towards the summit. The sun excoriates.

With each lumbering step, the supposed goal awaits. Attire sets one back, as he strives against force and family. Shuddering against the backdrop and memory, the other enters a thicket of grasping for understanding. For forgiveness. For meaning. The older man's vicariousness drives them both up the wall, and the mountain. Sores open and plead at the top, hushed by the stillness of the wide blue arena. Water pours greedily and the shade breathes new life. The family rests their rock tablets at the top. The other holds tight to his charge, not of accomplishment or desire, but of hidden loss. 

As the day reaches its pinnacle, the pack slowly curves towards its origin. Relentless blazing leaves one behind, a mark of later regret. Unity returns at the plateau with rest. The older man reaches out in a thick accent - "You have carried that far enough. You do not have to carry it any further." His hand rests on the other man's shoulder, feeling the waves of tears, frustration, and grief pour through his core. The man reaches into his pack and removes the battered stone. It comes to rest gently on the withered plain. Two verdant pools swim from acceptance.