As a member of the human race I question almost anything in existence. Answers to questions we don't even know to ask yet. We all used to look up at the sky and wonder about our place in the stars. Now we sit, living in our own *******, wondering about our place in the dirt. The beauty of our planet lost in our desire to create, to innovate and to further evolve our civilisation.

Now we survive in the ruins we have left behind. The greatest landmarks of all time, now a simple lost memory people share as if part of fiction. Religion, a subject long since lost with the world we had and often blamed for our destruction. We await a moment of divine intervention, where an almighty being sends down his hand to guide us, the surviving humans on planet Earth.

It is at this stage, the ****** of our existence, where we as a united planet are ready to change our ways, to adapt and forget our modern view on humanity.

The Monolith. We stand looking into the sky, half our vision blocked by an object. An object of which has no origin. But some claim is responsible for the survival of our species. Bringing back love, compassion and above all, an appreciation for life. We live on now, saved by an object of God's design or a random occurrence. The way of religion is our savior, we live on now as if the past was a story we tell our children to scare them at night.

We now live on, life without end. But the thought of our past haunts our future.

1938

I was a free man, sitting on a porch, over looking the sunset, with a cup of coffee in my right hand and my left hand over my darling wife. My children playing in the garden, playing in the dirt.  The perfect life as I knew it .A good job, supper each night with my family, our daily prayers together, something I overlooked at the time is now something I crave.  

1944

I lift my head slowly and open my eyes to the sight of tired soldiers, crumpled together in a small aircraft. Waiting to either go home or die in battle. One soldier throws up in front of me, a gross scene that now seems so normal. The aircraft door opens and within seconds, half the soldiers, my friends are dead, blood covers the craft as I run out and see nothing but chaos and destruction. One soldier lays there on the ground, his large glasses full of dirt, he is only 19, he is screaming.  A scream that I will never forget, his holding his stomach and blood flows out like a river on the sand, his inners laying beside him, him still screaming. I look up and see a white flash in front of me.

I hear music, a gentle yet strong tune that carries me as I lean upwards and try to stand, I can't. I wipe my eyes and look. I see red sand in front of me as I can't feel my legs. My Major runs for me and looks at me with a stare of empathy, he knows, he knows i'm not going home. I've never liked to ask God for help but now I pray in silence waiting, waiting to be taken home. Not this honours but in a body bag.

Why are we here?
What is our purpose?
Who created us?

These questions might one day be as common to us as the sun rising or the hours in a day. The answers to some of the most complicated questions could be hidden in the void of a black hole or as plain as the nose on our face. Whichever the case might be, can we handle the reality of these answers, or might they appear as a dream to us. Could they not be what we want or the scary part, might the answers be exactly what we want.

It is a Sunday morning today, I can hear the cars leaving for church, the bells ringing constantly. To make the day seem more memorable to me, as I write this two Jehovah's Witnesses walk up to my front door and ring the bell. I stare as if in shock, but truly I cannot relate to them anymore as I once could. I looked down on them my whole life, they were truly the glue in my family and now I sit without my family, my child to grow up without grandparents.

God?

A person, an idol of fiction and religion. A creature a person would only hear about on a Sunday. Now I find myself staring in the face of my God, questioning the motives on which the universe was created, curious for answers of which my mind cannot compromise.

I stare up at evolution and ask myself why i'm here?

I sit with my wife and child at breakfast, my wife insists we pray before we eat and so we do. I feel a volcano erupt within me as I allow the prayer she is giving to enter my body, my soul and as a virus, consume my mind.

I love you onion
I'll tell you why
in part because
you make me sigh,
you are everything to me
the song my Mother sang...
a whimsical, sad
and poignant little tale
I hear you crooning
& the radio tuning
my Mother knew me better
than I'd like to think,
singing ...
Lonely 'Lil petunia in an onion patch
a bittersweet memory
of all the saddest words
that I have ever heard
the saddest is the story
told me by a bird
tears fall from a pungent smell
when I cannot forgive,
say you'll never tell
and in tears of laughter  
when I'm tickled
seeing the inchworm
in the shape of a finger
a moment comes,
  I stay
and linger
climbing like a spider
singing me a verse
Spent about an hour
chatting with a flower
and here's the tale he told
as you're peeling layers,
& hearing prayers
revealing honesty
and depth of flavor
intoxicating waifs
I sniff and savor
kept safe
by a sturdy skin
cooking you
I start, begin
chopped fresh
and finely diced
or maybe
even thinly sliced
for summertime
franks, not the
Ballpark kind
these I doubt
you'll ever find
homemade baked beans
that you adorn and grace
a smiling sweet,
lil' onion face
everything made
from scratch
gleaning my
lil' onion patch
in toasted rolls,
whole grain mustard
potato salad...
best I can recall
my Mother
took the time to make
in everything
she cooked and baked
you're in all my memories
though you're in so much more
I've never shared with you
this love I have before
Onions are adaptation at its finest
fresh, sauteed with butter
translucent sweetness
Elevating anything you touch
they cry, and laugh
and give so much
dried, grated..slightly dated...
even hated, chopped up..
or roasted, grilled...
so very skilled
any way you slice it
even if you dice it
differently delightful
and delicious
smart for recipes,
even onion haters
appreciate the graters
sometimes your in  disguise
a lovely found
& welcome surprise
must be
I have something
in my eyes
as the flower
continues to sing
a joyful gift
my onion brings
familiar sounds
songs I sing
petunia continues
who put me in this bed
I'll bet his face is red
I call him down
with every teardrop that I shed
  then she said
if only I had him here
I would take him by his ear
and make him share my misery
I'm cooking homemade
onion chips,
rewound on old-time family clips
recall the fresh-squeezed lemonade
while we're sittin' in
the cooling shade
a memory of you replayed
so very glad you came & stayed
  sippin' slow brewed iced tea
my lil' onion friend and me.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

What happened.
I thought everything was going so good.


Now it's over.
I don't know what to do.

I feel speechless. Out of breath.
My body won't stop shaking.