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Where is the Home of Sadness?

Where is the home of sadness? It lies within me. I have tried to evict it, turned off the electricity, denied it sustenance and yet it refuses to leave. I have forced the sun to shine, blasting light at the yellowed shade and the soiled green curtains. They seem a weak barrier, yet only a wan and sickly haze is allowed in.

I walk around this enigma, this hole that sucks the warmth from my world. It intrudes on the pleasant green and blue of my surroundings. It is a stain. A wound. Death. I have looked in the door and seen the room. It is filled with dry and dusty furnishings. It whispers for me to leave the sun. To rest.

I hear my son playing on the hill, his voice dreamlike. Startled, I let go of the door. My feet have crossed the threshold. I step back, crushing brittle grass and feel the tug of sighing hands urging me to enter. I force another step, my shadow stretching long before me as if tangled in the threadbare rug. I step and step, and step again, ragged breathing loud in my ears. I step until I feel the threads that bind me to that place tear and part. I step until the sounds of forest life begin to chase the chill from my frame. I step until the cabin is a mote in my view, a tiny black hole tugging at the edges of the world around it.

I step until the curve of the hill hides the weeping dark and trees spring up at the corners of my vision. I continue backing slowly into their protective ranks until they stand like an army between me and my despair.

Then finally I stop.

Light rests gently on my shoulders and my son’s laughter rustles with the grass around me.

I will not cross that hill again. I fear that one day that dry and dusty place will seem a refuge.

I turn slowly to greet my son as tears roll down my face. They glitter like diamonds as they slide through the dust onto the green and fragrant grass.

I wish to live in the sun.

I originally published this on Wattpad in 2017.

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The Bridge

Sometimes I feel that I stand on a bridge between two worlds. The knotted ropes that bind the slats are frayed, reduced to a mere pittance of turnings. From the top of the towers dotting each land angry voices call the people to war. They rise from the valleys to slash at the moorings that provide safe passage over the void. We who walk the bridge speak of peace, but they cannot hear our words. Each combatant sees the other as a weight that unfairly drags them down, when in truth each is a hand, whose opposing pull prevents both worlds from plunging into the abyss of dissolution.

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The Porch

Photo by Lisa Fotios on

You sit in the twilight of a life
that is yet in the late afternoon.

The darkness you fear …
is but a shadow
cast by late summer clouds.

The wheeling ravens
you imagine …
Only brittle leaves
blowing in a steady breeze.

Do not depart
the pleasant porch
sooner than you must.

The falling sun
will paint the sky
in colors
unseen at midday.

From my account on Wattpad about 2019.
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Better Men Than I

Photo by Adam Grabek on

Better men than I now stand
with backs to gauzy veil
then step to mount
the feathered bridge
that arches o’er the dale

their feet once anchored by this clay
swift climb to lambent clouds
with shoulders wrapped in mystery
bright stars upon their brows

they shed the dust of mortal life
it drifts behind like snow
til joyously they stand at last
‘fore gates thrown open wide

by hands of those who went before
to welcome them inside

From my account on Wattpad about 2018.
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Winter’s Trail

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on

When last you walk on winter’s trail,
and reach the highest snowy pass,
to stare beyond the veil of ice
at hidden valley’s wonder

You’ll have some time to turn your head
and read a tale of slips and falls
rime brightened and inked
on frosty Gaia’s landscape.

A life thus spied, from airy height
is given form by distance,
joys and regrets, once estranged
now bound like storied pages.

No single footprint writes the verse
that tells the traveler’s legend,
each choice, each deed
a word inscribed, to infamy or glory.

I hope that when you reach that place,
you’ll smile at what was written,
turn your heel, pick up the pace
and to far mountain hasten.

From my account on Wattpad a few years ago.