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 A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
| Life’s mysteries uncovered become mysteries, the longer it’s been… Part I — I’m From The Creeks… I’ll never trail those hidden creeks again, hidden. Ferns as green, random turnstile misdirection, could not bar hydration’s scent — the tumbling and turbulence — moss kissed and dense. And I danced about dirt rock, spring through summer. My heart could anticipate each love return — no danger left for a boy drenched in repellant. If they made sprays for all life encounters, I wouldn’t wear a single one. The harsh sun only temporary deterrence never quelled a discoverer’s tongue, reporting all discovered — where nature exists from slag piles to the tip of sturdy trees that did bend and yield for one so certain — undeniable, immortal, powers yet to freeze time…until death’s door exhumed from the floor of my dreams in water current, where I brain-spelunk and continue to explore dimensions, weight, smoothness of wood gloss — questioning, how many toad capacity, fish bowl friendly, or snack quantity to last until supper — for this journey to the other side where I could soon reside? And, what provisions be there? Will I be able to see Mother? For it was her hand with grace that did haul me out from buggy woods, with mud face, and grass-green pants — she’d be happy to know I keep clean alone. Sad that Dad can’t be with us. He never had time for the creek, cattail, places where a strong arm did heave jagged to smooth stone and the few I kept for my own. Maybe, they’ll turn up, should I show, not hop on the wrong cloud, flowing from unique nature culling my ever-witness, as my eyes (does he ever take a break?) will surely glisten as in night, I wake to the sight — Is death or life reality? Must I need know, as a boy who by tenacity, would never let a thing go until life and lights fade and burn out.? I have exhausted every living thing and, yet still, not time to go… End, Part I ————————————————————- 6.23.25 38 lines to here, free verse prose-essay Ẃeβ࿚Ẃỉtcĥ  StephBee 
I’ll miss death as much as life, once it’s over. Part II — …To The Clouds Next (Delayed) There’s no stones where I’d like to go. What will I throw? You get bored and heave crab apples, camp entrance over passing cars. I know what happens should one land. This is my gift, let me show you how close to danger I’ve been, survived, never hospitalized, been called dumb…better than stupid, which I am neither. If you said fearless, I’d protect you. I could teach you how to cross from hardwood to hardwood, scale 15 feet up without limb, if worn is denim or corduroy. Life has been random, friends are not. Nor do they hate, as I tried to love the most troubled. With their taunts, I knew when it was enough. Some never change. I’d hold their hand just the same. You need to see… what I witness beneath their canopies, white bark peels off soft, where multitudes contain, crawl beneath, flow as you’ll see my heart glow from knowing joy, the serene places we could go — pack wax paper sandwiches, bottled brown and green soda pop. Twinkie or Cupcake treat to top it all off, love’s eternal reward — if you burn those calories off, the sudden strength to unearth granite, from the biggest bluff boulders. We can roll them… to our favorite spot, sit a spell until inactivity idles longer than paused words, because how many one word utterances like “eureka!” have we got? She doesn’t come to haul us by hand, but watch the sun, wait for a chilly breeze, as we always knew what time to go in. And the summer stones still there. No other could lift, but even that pride fades when all hidden dries up. Hope clouds cede dreams and the woman. We have a lot of catching up. 28 additional lines, free verse prose |
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