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June 25th, 2019


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Gender: Male
Status: In a relationship
Age: 109
Country: United States

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July 05, 2014


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06/09/2019 09:44 PM 

Far From Home

She sang to him a lilting lullaby filled with far off places and ancient kings, rolling green hills and crumbling stone walls, faerie rings and crashing waves, patchwork fields and skies of blue. She sang to him of times long past and kin long lost. Cradling his stillness to her warm, hollow chest, she swayed in time with his slowing heart, rocking him as she had so many years ago. She wept and she called him home.

He lay as many others laid - bleeding and still. His ears rang, his body ached, his eyes stung. He saw only grey skies and scorched earth, a landscape blasted and burning, scattered with wasted lives and fruitless dreams. The light of day hid from him behind a veil of drifting smoke, but the veil could not conceal the shadows. They flew overhead on great metal wings, soaring away to drop their horrors onto other sons who were also far from home. Home. He wanted to go home. Tears slid down his dirtied cheeks while his broken voice cried out for home.

It was then he heard her singing. He heard her lilting lullaby filled with far off places and ancient kings, rolling green hills and crumbling stone walls, faerie rings and crashing waves, patchwork fields and skies of blue. He heard her singing of times long past and kin long lost. His eyes dimmed and the world around him faded until he saw only her, standing as she always had, waiting on the garden path and calling him home. He felt her warmth, inhaled her scent, and drifted away into slumber cradled in her arms as had so long ago.

They found her down the garden path, kneeling in the mud. Her empty arms were wrapped around her middle, her shoulders slumped and shaking as she wept. She cried out his name, calling him to come home until finally they coaxed her back inside. But she waited for him, returning every day to the garden path his feet would never tread again. A brown envelope came in his stead, filled with black words and empty apologies, a few scattered mementoes and worthless medals, and his last words scribbled hastily on stained paper - the only thing of true value within the hated envelope. But her son, he would forever remain far from home.
β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”
this darkness
draws me       into
yawning graves
no-matter
gluey shades
stick my steps
down       on
terra firma

 
no hands
to reach       no chest
to hug
just
unburied pledges of
death
at the cemetery gate
as
self-made witches
whistle the
death dance of
my past's
exhumed skeletons


&
you are so far
fading       beyond
an ever shone
perhaps
like revoked
rain-drops       above
desert zenith
while karmic kismet
scatters
oriental sandstorms …
 
 
&
the darkness
draws me       onto
crumbly tombstones
β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”
Sweet chirping flying colors 
copy cat talks woodland dwellers
tip tap toe bob bob bow boe
eating corn on the cob
singing high n' low
whew-oo-oo whistling whew-oo-oo
bathing in bowls singing cuckoo-koo
trick n' treat for a sunflower seed
give'em a pot they'd happily breed
colorful wings and beautiful beaks
vibrant nature some bold some meek
tip tap toe tip tip tap toe
bob bow boe bob bob bow boe
joyous parrots and little sparrows.
β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”
Sweet chirping flying colors 
copy cat talks woodland dwellers
tip tap toe bob bob bow boe
eating corn on the cob
singing high n' low
whew-oo-oo whistling whew-oo-oo
bathing in bowls singing cuckoo-koo
trick n' treat for a sunflower seed
give'em a pot they'd happily breed
colorful wings and beautiful beaks
vibrant nature some bold some meek
tip tap toe tip tip tap toe
bob bow boe bob bob bow boe
joyous parrots and little sparrows.
β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”
The buffeting currents of life
have shattered me over
and over
and over again.

Fragments of me should lie
s c a t t e r e d
across the years,

but the universe in its magnanimity
has repaired me over
and over
and over again,

skilled hands piecing me back together,
even when I seemed bro-
ken beyond repair,
smoothing over my chips and cracks
with veins of gold.

Under the radiance of mercy,
I gleam with beauty
as if I were always meant
to look this way.
Prompt: kintsugi (or kintsukuroi); 
The art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.
β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”

Within the heart of Heaven's home
A special tribute shines
In honor of your "child-nurse" role;
Botanical designs

On solid crystal, edged in gold
A field of gardens grow
With flowers that astound the eye;
All Angels love to show

For on this earth you'll never find
A sight of such display
That even Angels stand in awe
Speechless and in dismay

You see, with tender care you touch
Each child in your command
And something magical takes root
Just like at Disneyland

A gala show gets on the way
The Angels all adore
As blossoms form in shape of hearts
Up from this garden floor

And as each blossom does erupt
A tune begins to play
That causes every flower above
To light up and to sway

And human eyes have never seen
A velvet heart of red
Nestled within a stem of gold
Upon a crystal bed

But where the magic truly lies
Is more amazing yet,
Each time your love touches a child
A sight you can't forget

Like perfect melodies of love
Each flower speaks a name
Of every child in your career
Who's known your nursing fame

So high above this earthly plain
Majestic flowers grow
In honor of your TLC

      And all the love you sow .


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αŸα’αŽ₯msᎾᏁsᎬᏁsαŽΎα’αŽ½

 

πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜

Posted on Sun Jun 09, 2019, 15:00

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