Journey of Discovery
The Sun is shining, and it’s a beautiful summer's day in a Trendy New York neighborhood. Rich kids are outside playing with friends. Little dogs are trying to keep up with their pint-size masters. While ever-watchful mothers are peeking out the windows from time to time, doing their best to keep an eye on their precocious offspring.
Suddenly a door opens and a neatly done-up woman steps outside to the front walkway and calls her children in for lunch. As she does, a slick-looking man walks up and stands off to the side, carrying a large, black suitcase.
The woman looks him up and down as he stands there smiling at her pleasantly. She ignores him for a couple of minutes as she gazes about calling her sons’ names, trying to determine where they have gotten to. Realizing he won’t go away, she grows annoyed with his presence and finally addresses him.
“Yes sir, is there something I can help you with?”
He steps forward and opens his suitcase. “Yes Ma’am, as a matter of fact, there is,” he answers. “Can I interest you in purchasing one of these books?”
She glances down briefly and sees that the books all have black shiny leather covers, and written on each of them in slim, gold, fanciful lettering are the words, “The Book of Self.”
The books are somewhat appealing to her in an odd sort of way and so she feels a little tempted to reach out, pick one up, and start reading. But in the end, she smiles at the salesman while shaking her head.
“I’m sorry sir, but between taking care of my business and trying to keep up with my rowdy kids, I simply don’t have the time for much reading. So I’m afraid I’ll have to say no. Besides, I have way too many other problems in my life right now to be bothered with such nonsense.”
The man smiles and nods his head sympathetically. “Miss, I understand what you're saying completely. But these books are far from being nonsense. And with your problems, that's all the more reason why you should give them a chance.”
The woman laughs a bit nervously, backs away then heads towards her home as the man follows her and pulls out a book. When she reaches her door, she turns towards him
again. “I’m sorry sir but in all honesty, I seriously doubt that any book has the ability to solve what I am going through."
“Well ma'am, quite frankly you will never know until you try. So will you at least take a look inside the book? Afterwards, if you still remain unmoved by what you find there I’ll gladly be on my way.”
The woman stands there for several seconds, debating what to do.
“Sure, if it will get you away from my doorstep and on to bother somebody else, I’ll take a minute or two and see what’s inside.”
“Thank you, miss, you won’t regret it…I promise.”
“I’ll decide that for myself if you don't mind” the woman answers as she reaches out and takes the book that the ever-persistent salesman offers her. She holds it in her hands and studies the front cover briefly. Finally, she opens the book and as she does her eyes fall upon the following words, “She opened the cover, began reading, and was amazed to find that the words were spontaneously writing themselves at that precise moment.” She quickly closes the book and hands it back to the man.
“I - I’m not sure I understand miss. So, you are not interested in buying a book now?” The man says, clearly confused by the woman’s reluctance to accept the evidence of her own eyes. Nevertheless, he takes the book back and prepares to place it in the suitcase.
“Wait!” She yells a second later as she reaches out and snatches the book back, opens it and starts reading again. The book continues with the words, “She changed her mind grabbed the book out of the salesman’s hands and continued reading what she found there. At that moment her sons came running up and stood off to the side as she followed the words which narrated the events that were taking place around her.” She suddenly closes the book and moves from in front of the doorway.
“Go inside, boys, lunch is on the table,” she tells them. The two of them step around their mother, but instead of going in the house normally, they both turn around and back up through the open doorway as they closely eye this strange man who now has their mother’s complete attention.
Once they’re inside, she reaches in and pulls the door shut after them. A second later she opens the book and reads,” She closed the door once they went in, then she opened the book and began reading again.” She only read for a few seconds then closed the book hard, so that the covers came together with a loud snap. Then, she thrust the book back at the man, as though she wanted nothing else to do with it.
“Look sir, I don’t know what kind of trick you’re trying to pull here, or what kind of scam
you’re running in order to make me buy these books from you, but it’s not going to work, GOT IT?”
“Look, Ma’am, I’m not sure what you mean, but I assure you that this is no sca-”
“I’ll tell you exactly what I mean mister. I am an honest, sensible, God-fearing woman and I will not allow some evil trash like that into this home. Now, you’d best be on your way sir, before my husband comes home for lunch and asks you to leave in a manner that is, how shall I put this? A lot less gentle than you’re probably used to.”
“Fine ma’am, I apologize for having wasted your time,” the man says as he takes the book back somewhat reluctantly, places it in the suitcase with the others and snaps the case shut. Then, right before he turns to leave he heaves a heavy sigh and smiles at the woman. “I just hope you don’t live to regret this decision. There have been others like yourself who have turned down this same opportunity and ended up deeply lamenting their choice later on.”
“I don’t see how,” the woman answered, as she stands at her door, preparing to go inside. “If all the book does is simply tell a person what’s taking place around them, then it really can’t be much of a help, can it?”
“Well, that really depends on the owner of the book.”
“I don’t understand what you mean. Please explain that statement,” the lady said as she closes the door, which she had partly opened. She now stands there with her arms folded in front of herself.
“Well, as odd as it sounds, these books actually have the ability to learn about their owners and in some cases, help them correct their actions, or keep them from making rash decisions. But the person must be willing to open up the book every day to see what is written there, and they must also be willing to open themselves up as well. It has to be a mutual give-and-take relationship. Then, when the book knows enough about a person it can start to anticipate their choices and help direct them to make wiser, more informed decisions.”
“I’m sorry sir, but I find that a little hard to believe. How can any book have such power? Even books like these that seem to almost have a mind and will of their own.”
“I do not know miss, it’s beyond my ability to figure out as well. All I know is that they’ve helped my wife and me a great deal.”
“Wait, you mean you own one of these books too?”
“Oh yes. I possess about a dozen of them, and most of my friends do as well.”
“How did they come into your possession? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Certainly not. Several years ago I visited an Indian mystic who lived high up in a monastery in the Himalayas. I had gone through quite an ordeal in my life before I arrived there. My first wife and our young son had been killed when a bandit had broken into our home and…and…” (Here he stops and begins swallowing hard as he tries to keep the memory of the tragedy from overwhelming him)
“I’m sorry sir, but I can see I’ve asked a question about things you may not be ready to–“
He holds his hand up as he tries to compose himself. “No, just give me a minute, please. I’ll be ok, honestly.” Afterwards, he takes a few deep breaths and manages to regain his composure.
“Look, if this is too hard for you, then why don’t we simply forget it. And I’ll buy a book just for having caused you to relive what must’ve been a very painful time in your life.”
“No...I’m fine now, thank you. Besides, it does me good to share my story from time to time. But, back to what I was saying, after their passing, I had a hard time coming to grips with what happened. I became a recluse for several months and had contemplated suicide before-“
“Oh my…how awful that must’ve been for you.”
“Yes, yes it was. But a long-time friend of mine eventually helped me to get through my dark night of the soul and actually informed me about the Indian mystic I mentioned. He had apparently met this ancient sage once before when he was a young boy.”
“How did they meet?” the woman inquired.
“His father needed both mental and physical healing after he had been grievously wounded in the war,” the salesman continued, “and so he was directed by some of the locals to this old healer who was very well-known among the people. Some of them agreed to take him there for a small fee. He paid the fee and brought his son along as well because he thought it would be a good learning experience for the boy, and so it was.”
“So, what happened when you finally encountered this ancient mystic?”
“When I arrived there, he informed me that he already knew I was coming, and he told
me many other things about my life as well. Afterwards, he invited me to sit down in front of his fire, I did so, then he asked me what I most desired in life. And so I told him that I wanted the ability to help myself.”
“That’s a good thing to ask for,” the woman noted.
“Yes, I thought so too, and apparently…he did as well.”
“What do you mean, did he tell you so?”
“No, but he sat there for quite a long time, grinning and nodding as he rocked himself back and forth with his eyes closed. I don’t know, but I kinda got the impression that he was pleased. Finally he told me that there were two things he could do for me.”
“What two things did he say he could do?”
“He said that he could give me the ability to help myself or to help others. He said that if I chose the first, I would travel far, learn many things and become a great man. But, he added, if I picked the second choice, then I would end up changing many lives, help others to do the same and perhaps bring peace to a small part of the world and leave a great legacy behind.”
“Obviously you chose the latter of the two,” the lady stated.
“I did, and I’ve not regretted it since.”
“But, you’ve still not explained to me how the book came into being.”
“I was just about to do that. After I made my choice, we went into a part of the monastery where there was a large collection of books, scrolls and such. He went over to one shelf in particular, pushed aside several dusty volumes of ancient lore, reached back, pulled out a large canvas bag and handed it to me.”
“And let me guess, the book he wanted you to have was in the canvas bag, right?” The woman said with a self-congratulatory grin, sure that she had guessed the answer.
“No, not quite. We went over to the fire, and he told me to open the bag and take out what was there, and so I did.”
“And what was it you took out?”
“A small scroll wrapped up in some type of animal skin. He then ordered me to toss it into the fire, and I did so. Afterwards, we sat back down and he began throwing some
herbs and incense into the flames, while muttering strange incantations. Afterwards, the flames began leaping up high. Then they began to crackle and as odd as it may sound, it almost seemed as if the fire was speaking back to him.”
“Oh my, that does sound odd, and kind of scary as well. What did he tell you to do next?”
“As the flames died down a little, but continued burning he gave me some herbs to eat, which I did. Then he told me that I must rest there for one day and one night.”
“Are you serious? He really told you that you had to sleep there in front of the fire for that long?”
“That’s correct.”
“I mean, weren’t you worried that he might…do something to you?”
“No, not at all. If you ever met the man you’d understand what I mean. He seemed completely harmless to me and in no way capable of hurting anyone, or anything for that matter. But, for the record, I did ask him why I had to sleep there.”
“And, what did he say?”
“He explained to me that I must sleep while the fire slept so that all my thoughts, words, memories, actions, emotions and knowledge could be gathered into the fire as well, in order for me to have the gift he offered.”
“And that’s when you fell asleep, right?”
“Yes, that is…I think so. Frankly, I don’t even remember falling asleep, I do recall waking up, however.”
“And how did you feel once you woke up?”
“Honestly, I felt different in a good sort of way, like there was an awareness deep inside of me that everything was going to be fine now. But, anyway, when I did finally awaken, I saw that the fire was out, but it was still smoldering a little. That’s when I saw the book lying right there in the middle of the ashes, but it had no title on it. The ancient one then bade me come to his side of the fire. Then, he told me to kneel, wet my finger, dip it into the ashes, and write on the front cover whatever title I thought suited the book best.”
“And, so you called it the Book of Self, right?”
“Well, not right away, I ran several names by the old one first, to see what he thought of
them.”
“What were the other names you came up with? I’m eager to hear them,” the lady inquired as she sat down on the front step. Afterwards, the salesman set his suitcase down and sat right next to her.
“The first title that I ran by him was, The Book of Self-Helping which I thought suited the book perfectly. However, he said if I gave it that title the book would simply write about itself and no one else. Essentially he said the book would just help itself.
“Oh, well…that’s not much good then, is it?” The woman observed.
“No, it’s not. But, I still had another idea for a title which I thought might work.”
“And what was that?”
“I suggested we call it, The Help Guide for Everyone. But that name also he said was equally bad. He told me that the book would then write endless little passages about every single person in my life. From my family and friends to the mailman, pizza delivery boy, grocery clerk down the street and our family dentist as well. In other words, the book would focus on everyone at the same time, and thus it would be unable to help anyone.”
“Oh my, all those people.”
“Yes, all those people is right. Then, I said perhaps I should just call it, The Book of Help but that too he said would accomplish nothing. So, as I was attempting to think of something else, I said simply, The Book of Self. And at that point, I was still trying to think of another word to add on when he stopped me and said that’s perfect!”
“What’s perfect?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I said…what’s perfect? And he answered, The Book of Self. That he said, was the best title I could give to it. I asked why, and he told me that it would then write only about the person who possessed it.”
“But, it wrote passages about my kids just now.”
“Well, it will of course include others in its pages, but only as how they relate to whoever owns the book.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And so, once he laid his hands on my shoulders, I wet my finger, dipped it into the ashes
and wrote on the cover the title it now bears, and just as he said, it fit perfectly.”
“My word, that is a fascinating story, I must admit. So what happens when you start to run out of books, do you go back to this Indian Sage and get more?”
“No. Actually when I do start to run low, the book just reproduces itself and when I open the suitcase again, it is filled once more.”
“That’s amazing!” The woman exclaimed. “But, why do you have a dozen of them yourself? Is your life so complicated that you fill-up the pages that fast?”
“No, the books never fill themselves up. Whenever I get close to the end of a book, it simply adds more pages on its own. I have a dozen of them so that I can give away some to family, friends and whoever else I encounter that may be in need of one.”
“Well, if you don’t mind telling me, what exactly do you do with all the money you make from your sales?”
“Well naturally, some of it helps towards paying my bills and such. If I have enough left over, I may donate a little to my favorite charity. And the rest I send to the old man who then uses it to purchase things he needs to continue helping others just as he helped me. Also, I should mention that I do have a full-time job. This is something I only do on the side.”
“Yes. Well, that is one unbelievable story regardless, and I can see now why you try so hard to sell them. So, I guess there really is something special to these books after all.”
“Yep, there really is,” the salesman stated, “I’m living proof of that.”
“I agree, you certainly are. But there was one other thing I've been wondering about. If I do buy one, will the book continue to write about me even when it's closed, or only when I open it?"
"Oh both, to be sure. As a matter of fact, once you've had it in your possession for a while, you can randomly open it, and find any number of chapters written about your life. Including your family and friends, your job, your hobbies, the choices you make about certain things, and all else besides. At that point, once the book becomes familiar enough with your life, dreams, goals, wishes, and plans then it will also come to form certain opinions about you, which it will also share as well."
"Oh my!" The woman exclaimed. "That is truly amazing. Well, you've definitely sold me on them. I'll take one...no two!" The woman said, suddenly realizing that an extra book may just come in handy.
“Fine, here you are,” the salesman said, handing her the first book she’d been looking at and another one as well. “That’ll be forty dollars even,” he stated.
“Okay. Just one second while I go in and retrieve the money from my purse. I hope you don’t mind waiting, um……I’m sorry sir, but I never did catch your name.”
“The name is Gregory…Gregory Von Hildebrand. And what might your name be, ma’am?”
“My name is Eleanor. And I am both very pleased and very fortunate to have met you, Gregory,” the lady said as she extended her hand towards him.
“I feel the same way, Eleanor,” he answered as he smiled, took her hand in his, then shook it briefly and held it awhile before finally releasing it.
“Well if you’ll excuse me please, I promise, I shan’t be long,” Eleanor said giddily as she turns and goes bouncing lightly up the steps. Once inside she sets the books down, reaches into her pocketbook, opens her purse and takes out the money. She then turns and quickly walks back through the open door.
Once outside though, she sees that the salesman has disappeared and left a receipt taped to the metal railing.
She pulls the receipt off, looks at it, and reads, “Two books/Total Price/$40/Paid in full.”
“I don’t get it,” she says to herself. “Why would he not want to collect his fee?” She then turns it over and on the back is written a little note.
“It’s enough that you were willing to pay, but you’ll find that the best things in life sometimes cost you nothing – Gregory”
She walks into her home, a little disappointed that she had not been able to thank the man properly. Then, after she places the money back into her purse, she opens one of the books and her eyes fall upon the latest entry.
“And so her hope was turned to both disappointment and then joy. As she lost her chance to thank the kind salesman, but was rewarded with a new best friend who would come to know her entire life story from cover to cover.”
The End?
Letter From a Friend
He smiled in wretched sadness.
Weeping brittle tears of joy at the empty hole
his life had become.
He wrote a letter in pencil to his dearly departed friend
but ran out of ink.
So he started all over again
at the end.
“I think of you sometimes when the warm winter wind blows
dragging with it dust drops of water.
It forms your face in the street.
But then the cold-hearted Sun dries your smile away.
Still, I remember.
I recall fondly the time we spent apart.
I still have all those letters you never sent me.
Thank you for those.
All those trips we took together
I’m sorry I never showed up.
All those late-night conversations we never had
I still replay them over and over in my mind.
I hope I never see you again
one day soon.
I miss hearing the sound of your silence.
Eve and the boys send love and flowers.
We all miss you terribly
you rotten bastard.
Hope you’re doing well
in Hell.
Regretfully,
Your friend Adam.
Lonely Bloom
After he got the news, his arms went limp and the rose fell to the floor. He stood there, staring at it for a few moments. Unable to move or even think. Finally, he unfolded the paper and began reading again the poem he had composed for her.
"Though we're apart and my life is a desert, love can still bloom in the driest of places. Like a rose that waters itself with the tears of missing you."
He stopped short, unable to finish. Then stooping down, he picked up the flower, and put it under his nose, allowing its fragrance to linger there. As he stood up and inhaled deeply, he recalled the place where they had first met.
It was at a little sidewalk café, in Paris, where he often went to work on his journal. He was sitting alone, she with friends. He was jotting down some random observations about the music and the cuisine when she came up softly. She cleared her throat a little, causing him to gaze up and stare at her in stunned silence.
She stood there like a lovely European dream. Her long, flowing, blond hair was soft-lifted by the breeze, playing all around her head in delicate little tangles. Her deep blue, sea green eyes regarded him with surprised interest, as her smooth skin shimmered in the hot Paris sun like rose-colored pearl. For a few moments, he was unable to speak.
Finally, he slipped back into this new reality where anything was possible as long as she was a part of it.
"Wha-What may I do for you?" He said, barely able to control his emotions.
She went to speak, and her soft voice sounded cool, clear, and musical. Like the whisper of magic fairy chimes, tinkling softly in an open doorway on a pleasant spring day.
"May I have this chair?" She asked, coming up close and placing both her arms around it as if she could not bear to be parted from it. "You see, a friend of mine has just arrived, and she has no place to sit."
Then she stepped aside and allowed him to peer behind her, where he saw two attractive ladies sitting at a table. While a third one stood close by, gazing his way with a hopeful expression.
He could refuse her nothing. "Yes, you may have it most certainly. Just as long as you promise to come and sit with me after your friends leave."
She tilted her head a little to one side, gazed at him with eyes wet and glistening, then she made a sigh that he would never forget. Seeming to laugh and cry in the same breath.
"Oh, I cannot, for we are all leaving together, you see. Ah well, I shall just find one somewhere else I suppose." Then she went to turn away when he stopped her.
"Wait! I shall not hear of such a thing!" He proclaimed indignantly. "You shall surely take that chair for your friend. It is my gift to you. Enjoy."
Then she giggled and clapped her hands together gleefully like a young schoolgirl. "Oh goody! Thank you so much kind, sir. You truly are an angel."
"No Madam, you are the angel. I am but a wandering soul, waiting for the salvation only your sweet love can provide."
She looked him directly in the eyes and mouthed the words thank you. As she slid her tongue out seductively and let it touch the front of her lips. Then she smiled, waved a little, and after lifting up the chair, she set it down for her friend. Then they both sat down together, ordered some drinks and all of them started talking.
He tried to continue working on his journal. But each time he did, he would hear her laughter rise above that of the others, and it left his soul intoxicated. Or he would hear her talking and her voice became like a siren song. Seeming to sound higher, clearer, and more beautiful than all the rest. It almost caused him to lose control of his emotions. So that in a second or two he felt as if he might rise up and declare his love for her. Regardless of who was around or what happened afterwards.
Suddenly, he shot a quick glance here and there to see if anyone else had become aware of his growing infatuation with her. No one had. Then, he dropped his pen on the table, closed the journal, sat back in his chair, and lit up a cigarette. Resigning himself to defeat.
Several minutes later he put the cigarette out and began collecting up his journal, some notes, and other miscellaneous things he had brought with him. He placed everything within a small leather carrying case. Determined to come back in a day or two when hopefully, there would be no more distractions.
Then, just as he stood up to leave, her perfume instantly reached out, caught hold of him, and enfolded his senses within a cloud of bliss. He stood there helplessly with his eyes closed, seeming to breathe in a mystical flower of paradise right after the world was new-created.
He knew he couldn't leave like this, so he sat down again and quickly wrote a few lines about her. Then he casually dropped the paper in front of her as he passed. She opened it there and read quietly to herself.
"I am intrigued by the perfume you are wearing. I remember smelling that same fragrance before. It was at the Musée du Louvre. I was admiring that painting, "The Birth of Venus" by Botticelli. You were still lingering in the air, as I arrived.
I had just missed you. I have not been able to forget you since.
You came down from the painting, and into my life. I long to inhale you more deeply. Here is my number, can we meet?"
She called later that night, and they met the very next morning. In the same café, at the same table. From that moment on, his heart belonged to her.
On their first day sightseeing together, they walked under the Arc de Triomphe du Carousel where he kissed her and declared his love. In that moment he told her later, he had outdone Napoleon himself and taken possession of Europe's greatest treasure.
Afterwards, while strolling through the Jardin des Tuileries, they held hands as they admired the paintings, the statues and immersed themselves in the garden's breath-taking beauty. It was there he found a flower unlike the others and named it after her.
"La Fleur d'Elise."
Later, they walked the Champs-Élysées and stopped along the way to browse the luxury shops, cafés and cinemas.
As evening approached, they visited the Eiffel Tower and the Grands Boulevard area in the 9th Arrondisement, where they enjoyed some of the Parisian nightlife. Then they went back to their little café and had dinner.
Afterwards, they ordered a bottle of wine and sat there discussing music, art, poetry and theater. Towards the end of the night, they kissed once more and exchanged love vows, both of them swearing never to think of anyone else while they were apart.
Theirs was a sweet, simple relationship in which they constantly discovered new things about each other to cherish. He told her that he loved the way she tilted her head to one side ever so slightly while speaking. She said that she enjoyed the gleam of adoration in his eyes whenever he spoke to her. They thought it would never end.
But, that was more than a month ago, and a lot had changed since then. He mistook a friend for her lover and grew extremely jealous. Demanded to know who he was and why she was spending time with him. Angry words were exchanged and accusations made that she could not forgive. He had become unreasonable in his suspicions, so she broke it off.
Now she was gone. Had returned to London, her neighbor told him, barely an hour ago. He had just missed again her it seems. Yet her perfume was hanging heavy in the air as always. Then, the neighbor handed him a note from her.
He opened it up and read the final words which she had left for him.
"You sweet, silly man. You will find me...everywhere. Fondly, your Elise."
He nodded his head sadly and wiped away a few tears. Afterwards, he gave the rose to the neighbor, then placed the poem and the note in his pocket. Dejected but accepting, he walked out the front door and back down the street to the little café at which they had first met. Where he knew her fragrance would still be waiting to haunt him forever.
With the memory of a love that would never grow.
Early Morning Frost
Drifting quietly over the slumbering land
comes the unfolding blanket of snowflakes.
They look like a flock of whirling stars.
Joyful and laughing, they gather in groups.
Chasing each other and playing seasonal games.
Or they drift aimlessly
like confused runaway children.
Frightened and alone.
The leaves bid them a dry welcome
as they lay there whimpering softly
about their Springtime loves.
When in youthful green colors
they bedecked the trees.
And waved adoringly
To the sweet, young blossoms below.
Occasionally one would sacrifice itself
and float to the ground.
Landing near a cherished flower.
There, for just a short time
they would bask
in its special and unique fragrance.
Now, those days gone
they lay dried and decaying
upon the broken-hearted Earth.
Restless, they move about in deserted places.
As the hopeless snowflakes approach.
Timid Fascination (Wounded Heart)
I, a skillful hunter seek the shy reclusive doe.
Lying in wait that I may pierce her suddenly
with an arrow from Cupid’s bow.
Beneath the sheltering trees occasionally I behold her reposing
gazing at her reflection in the watery sky.
Then I wonder if it’s for love of me that she’s pining.
As her teardrops dapple the grateful roses, which sigh.
The songbirds perch above with restless wings
living to serve only her.
As they bring rich and luscious fruits in abundance
causing the taste buds of her heart to stir.
Then I see my chance, and as I aim and shoot
she leaps clear of my shaft with graceful ease.
Turning back she gives me a carefree, inviting glance
then disappears into the shadows beyond the trees.
Her movements are so fluid like water in motion
each step she takes is sweet music divine.
Causing the soul of all creation to rejoice in my love’s presence
with visions of her beauty that transcend the sublime.
Earth Song
Harken now
as the westerly wind softly intones a low
mournful dirge.
While the reeds at the water’s edge
pick up the sad refrains
and over them
they transpose their quavering
illusionary measures.
Broken up occasionally by a discordant sigh.
The birds passing by
pause a moment
as they listen crestfallen
to the slow, sorrowful lament.
Which they keep time to
with a dull thrumming of the wings.
And a sweet blending-over
of fading trills.
Which becomes barely perceptible
amidst the echo-booms
of the loud thundercloud drums.
And the intermittent tinkling sound
of the raindrops.
As they pelt the leaves
on the musical tree of magic colors.
Which having once danced
and enjoyed life and freedom so much
now stands condemned.
Hopelessly rooted
to this one solitary spot.
And so it droops over now
with dampened spirits.
As it beholds the birds,
the wind, the reeds
and all the other players
in this lonely cheerless pastoral.
Trying to recall a time
when it didn’t once glance backwards
and think of things precious
that were
but are no more.
While the grey, somber sky
conductor
of this orchestrated
remembrance
soothes
their saddened spirits
by serenading them
with a melodious rainbow.
Which heralds
the promise of a new day.
When all of nature
will once again
sing in tune.
Mortal Blooms
Take these flowers from before me.
They are good for nothing.
Remove them from my sight!
These tear-smitten love growths.
See how they droop and wilt in my hands?
I will rip off their soft, pink deceptions.
Their faded hues hurt my eyes
with honest lies.
I want to behold some monstrous nosegays
sick of adorning the pale stem of scented finery.
Hate embellished roses, that’s what I want to see.
Bouquets of long-suffering flesh petals
blood-stained.
That makes the senses recoil with their pungent wind-sprays.
Mutated orchids disdain the garden.
Blooming in gaudy defiance from the trash heap.
Unplucked
they vomit forth their foul gushings with stifled breath.
Graceful in decay.
They shoot forth with lilting smiles
like the houseplant
cursing the hand that nurtures.
Blessed in uprooting.
Becoming more glorious when cast away.
Refusing life in tragic colors
that beautify
the dust where they lie.
Wingless Freedom 2
Never a day passed
when he wasn’t there
watching the rose
white star birds
grazing in the cloudy air.
Soaring beyond sight
to appear once again.
The Fairy Terns
miracles of nature
this child was their life-long friend.
Over time, he was welcomed
following the pattern they flew.
from sky to sea
and back again
he was immersed in sunlit blue.
When he got married
they attended the rites
dazzling the couple
with flawless ballets
of graceful, inspired flight.
When his first child was born
they celebrated the birth
by directing sunlight
to enfold the infant
endowing its soul with mirth.
When his marriage ended
and his heart was broken
they hovered near him all that day
singing a song
too sad to be spoken.
When his son died in the war
and his soul was beyond healing
they wept rainbow tears
of impassioned color
to reflect what he was feeling.
Then, one day he came
and they weren’t there anymore.
He waited and watched
but they returned not
to the sky nor to the shore.
Afterwards he became depressed
when he knew his dearlings were gone
he felt deep inside
that they no longer loved him
so he made himself move on.
Many years later
after he drove everyone away
the cancer came
his breathing slowed down
his life-force a fading grey.
Slowly his limbs failed him
and he knew the end was near.
So he asked some neighbors
to take him back
to the beach which he held so dear.
They did as he wished
and left him alone.
So, there he remained
from dawn to dusk
till his body became like stone.
As his eyes began to close
he suddenly heard a sound.
Looked up and saw dozens
of Fairy Terns
slowly circling round.
One by one they descended
and covered him with their wings.
They took his pain
upon themselves
like fluttering heavenly kings.
As they flew off again
to the faraway lands
he held the last one gently
and wept
precious jewels into the sand.
The Sunlight was fading
as he let it be.
And when it flew away
He closed his eyes
as his body set his spirit free.