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Just underneath his Wickett tree
Douglas Milford died, you see.
He died the way old men die
When pausing deep within a sigh.
And there he stood and watched
The world, his world
Slowly fade.
Into the deep, the darkest,
Empty, soulless shade.
Shaded well, and sadly so,
For Douglas Milford discovered secrets
All dead men come to know.
That time, she waits for no one.
And that it was time to go.

Time called him
And Douglas Milford heard
Every cold
And empty word-
'Follow,' she said,
And Milford knew
It was but one more thing
He was required to do,
And he felt that lingering,
Haunting sting,
Like the gentle turn
Of a gossamer wing.

And Death paused,
Ever briefly,
At a raggedy pond,
And said, "You must leave
Your dreams here,
Before moving on.
What you were in life,
That emotionless shell,
You cannot be in death.
It will not do you well.
So discard it right here,
And we'll be on our way.
It is part of the fee
To the price you must pay."
And so Douglas Milford
Collected each dream
Into a small satchel
He'd taken along,
And he poured them inside,
Every hope, every scheme,
Every wish, every want,
Every childhood song.
And he wrapped them up tight,
Without any delay.
And then he watched Death
Simply toss them away.

"Death is unkind,"
He thought with a sigh,
Not quick to noticed
There was no longer a sky.
And that the air
Tasted thin,
Rusted metals and soot.
And the road was not easy
To travel barefoot.

He was poor
And not so right.
His boney feet
So thin and small
Did not show
He'd been quite large in life,
For, now Douglas did not seem so tall.
The cool wind against his face
Carried such a nasty sting,
His mind thundered in a rush,
And he remembered
Every little thing.

Ten years old he stood
And saw his mother cry,
And somewhere deep inside he ached
As he watched again his father die.
And his little baby sister -
Who came with the harvest moon,
Faded into the red and cold and gray,
Called away far, far too soon.
It was a pain that he could
Not deny.
And he cursed himself and
Hated life.
And there Death smiled,
Somewhat pleased.
For this pain had cut him
Like a knife.
"Why do I have to cling to these
Damned and fool-hearted memories?"
And he shivered with a quiet fear
As he wiped away a tear.
And Death told him,
"They haunted you in life, my friend.
And they'll haunt you to your very end.
They are the Ghosts in life
You could not change.
Cancel out or rearrange.
You've trained yourself so very well -
With your selective memory.
And you've crafted yourself quite a cell
By seeing only what you want to see.
All these years you've carried these
Little haunts you've hid so deep,
And you never could forgive yourself
For sins you did not plan to keep.
I am afraid they'll linger in your heart
And echo back from time to time-
It is the price you have to pay
When a haunt of guilt clouds up your mind."

And images danced against
The shaded thoughts within his head.
Every cold and empty thing
He'd ever briefly said.
Those words he'd shared with strangers,
Was he just arrogant,
Or completely blind?
Far too many moments when
All that he spoke
Was heartless and unkind.
Will they haunt me too? he thought,
Damn this vile retrospection.
Must I drag up everything
Accursed with indigestion.
There must be something good I've done
That Death cannot steal away.
Some memory locked so deep inside
The fates cannot betray.
And there he saw a spark of good,
A hint of gentle grace.
Was that Grandma? he wondered
As he saw her rosy face.
She shined with such compassion,
He longed for her embrace.
Her smile was so welcome
She brightened up this
Shaded place.

But something in his mind snapped back,
And offered no reprieve.
"You are no victim, Douglas.
So do not grieve.
In life you lived just for the day.
You did every single thing your way.
You had no faith, and damned to hell
That eternity the preacher's sell.
You cared less for those with less than you-
And you cannot return to fix that.
It's a something you can't do.
There's so much you had no faith in,
For it wasn't your ideal.
But just because you don't believe in it,
Doesn't mean it isn't real.
This is your inheritance.
And you've worked hard for your reward.
You've hidden all your fortune,
And this it where it's stored."

And Douglas Milford rested some,
As if the day was finally done.
His bones, they ached,
His knuckles bled,
And there was a pounding
In his head.
And he swallowed dry the metal air,
And imagined a softly moving sea,
And tried to dream that he was there,
Still underneath his Wickett Tree.
That upside where it was cold and gray
Blue sky still welcomed in his day.
And that this ground,
Just shards of broken glass
Were soft and cool as new grass.
He tried to drift into his dream
Of peaceful quiet on a hill,
That gentle breeze that carried every
Song sung by the whippoorwill.
He wanted blue sky overhead,
And crickets chirping by his tree.
He longed to hear a story read
About how good a life should be.
But the jagged thorns that pricked his heel
Brought him back to skies of gray,
And to the shaded shards he knew as real,
That Douglas Milford died today.

Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler

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"For death begins with life's first breath
And life begins at touch of death."
~John Oxenham
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I like writting dark blood curdling poems
Thing is
Big problem
I'm just a little too happy right now

I always pictured this one girl
I drew her out to have this gentle twirl
She would have long brown hair
Running down her back, so fair
She would have pale white skin
One hundred and one hair pins

She would wear the prettiest yellow dress
And she would be perfect for me
But she would tease you with what you could only see
She whispered funny things in your ear
You’re the only one who could hear
While we spend these times in your car
Everything parked and night afar
She would have these lovely curls
Wearing these hidden white pearls
She was what I could only imagine
The thought of her was my one true passion

We would run around with these engaged hands
And land at the beach into these old sands
You said to me, “Stop thinking of me, silly”
I never known what she meant
Until it came to me sent
She kneeled next to me
Gave me this long lasting sad smile with her perfect green eyes
Giving me these last sighs
“You’ll be happy one day, just wait a little longer”
I never had to make such a long ponder
My yellow dress girl vanished from me
Leaving me all alone with this open sea
Those last words took a great toll
Feeling like I was falling down this hole

All my love is genuine
Just love for me is in this pen
I write all these love poems
Hundreds of words for you my dear
I never meant to be so unclear
It’s true I lost you when I needed you the most
Creating these thoughts to stay as my mind host
Distracting these retired emotions
Setting these feelings with inventive motions
Erasing that flower dancing yellow dress
I will not be your tossed away mess
I've always cared for you my sweetheart
I’m just sorry that I broke your gentle heart

Patted into sticky spheres of tender delight and spotted with chocolate chips.
I watch carefully as they melt into the dough.
The smell of overpowering joy wafes throughout my tickled
nostrils, and having to wait another second for them to cool
is anything but bearable.

All I can think as they rest on a plate before me is,
“They’re mine, ALL MINE!”
I grab one and let it explore my impatient
taste buds as it travels down the dark tunnel
and into a tomb of pure happiness.

Like a mother to a child, I hold you tight
(Into my stomach, that is). How can something
so small cause so much explosive
excitement to travel through my veins?
Chocolate chip cookies are little bites of heaven.