"breakneck" poems
**All my life I’ve been searching for something more
Something missing; an emptiness down in my core
And I didn’t know what I was looking for**
Searching the Earth for to fill my need
Sloth and envy and pride, jealousy lust and greed
Money, popularity, status, possessions; the life I lead
**All my life I’ve been searching for something more
Something missing; an emptiness down in my core
And I didn’t find what I was looking for**
Looking for love in all the wrong places
Never one to stay for long in any case
Living life at a breakneck pace
**All my life I’ve been searching for something more
Something missing; an emptiness down in my core
And I couldn’t find what I was looking for**
Leaving me hungrier; wholly unsatisfied
Nothing helped. There wasn’t one thing I hadn’t tried
So elusive it was: true happiness and joy I was denied
**All my life I’ve been searching for something more
Something missing; an emptiness down in my core
But I wouldn’t find what I was looking for**
The world had nothing left for me; I gave up hope
And at the bottom of a very steep and slippery slope
Nowhere left to run and ready to die.
**All my life I’ve been searching for something more
Something missing; an emptiness down in my core
And I never found what I was looking for…**
Down to me came a rope. Taking that rope my life changed forever that day
The light in my dark, show me the right way
What happened I couldn’t really say.
**All my life I’ve been searching for something more
Something missing; an emptiness down in my core
And I might have found what I’ve been looking for**
I still fall and lose my way. God knows I’m not perfect
It’s a long hard road, but God believes I’m worth it
And I know you have a plan for me. Still not sure where I fit
**All my life I’ve been searching for something more
Something missing; an emptiness down in my core
And I think I found what I’ve been looking for**
Life giving water, sustaining bread, and solid ground
Love, joy, and peace. New life I see all around
What I’ve always been looking for, I’ve finally found
**All my life I’ve been searching for something more
Something missing; an emptiness down in my core
And I (Finally) found what I’m looking for!**
Thank You Jesus!
AMEN
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
In times of yore,
A name arose –
With vulnerable emerging markets,
The “Sick Man” of Asia!
But it has primed its cutback!
“Sick Man” was now a former name,
Call him this nation
To breed at ‘breakneck’ pace!
The snap back is faster
As global growth stirs in its revival,
And billions of dollars are in his shares!
Philippines vs. U.S.
With 7 percent, the peso was down for the year!
And we were knocked out!
It was more a reflection of global fears! –
About higher U.S. interest rates,
Then, the worries ‘bout the realm’s own fortunes,
Has to be forgotten.
Southeast Asian nation's prospects remain bright,
Likely to produce “predictable growth,”
Yes, the three stars with lone sun –
Now sky-scraping ,
With Filipinos making a stand.
Moving far..
From being a financial basket case,
The government has cut its debt,
Carry on! March on Filipinos!
(2/25/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
Currently there are:
Thousands of cars zooming down the highway at breakneck speeds,
Millions of lights illuminating the dreary road,
With the power of a hundred valiant steeds,
Causing the cement to corrode and erode,
Thousands of fossil fuels burnt merely to transport other fossil fuels,
Pollutants filling the air and altering our environment,
But these are the worlds most precious jewels,
All to feel the capitalist tyrant.
But hey... At least I have air conditioning in my F150 while heading to set off Chinese fireworks while celebrating the 4th of July.
The American Dream.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
mom betrays us.
headlights into the night
& up the breakneck boulevard bluff overlooking town and terminus.
she brings his heart in a ziploc bag,
an offering
to that old burnt-out oak.
[husband\father\corpse]
front porch blood trails forever. she
claims self-defense and the camera-eyes caramelize her
fame & fortune & stepdaddies & book deals & ziploc pb&js & dead dog omens.
when did the heartache begin?
heir\son\brother\body
racing car ****** and fluxed up the boulevard in a ritual reach for daddy and the oak.
the girls are waiting. one two three, seeds.
brakes sabotaged. he
bursts into death, a molten ball of mazda.
father and son laugh there on the brim of here and hereafter.
apparitions uncoiled.
[home movies]
where mercury avenue ends
the woods begin.
& those woods are evil, an eldritch place, she laughs.
even the indians wouldn’t bury their dead there.
america.
caught between the whir of spokes and windshields reflecting
sky and skin, the blue hue
of television flickering on the hands of a family.
grandsons conjure grandmaster demons
on the ply of their treefort high.
the heart of grandma in a ziploc bag.
jupiter and saturn are in conjunction,
twelve past midnight on a tuesday in september.
a school night.
[the babysitter brings over an unlabeled video tape, says its scary]
the children watch.
slumber party screams and pb&js.
ghouls blunted by pungent neighborhood inertia.
son, a ghost returned in rhythm and electronics,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
They say that lightning strikes are one in a million.
Then how is it that every time
you hold my hand
or stare into my blushing face,
that a jolt,
of pure electricity
runs through our shared connection,
bound in tiny intricacies in our veins,
restless in our hearts,
our minds?
I would love to believe that,
that lightning only strikes at impossible odds-
but I can't,
not while I am touching you;
my own heart is a live wire and jumping into my throat
with the raw voltage
coursing through me-
terrifying,
exhilarating,
breathtaking-
and belies the science I know
will disagree with me.
It can never know
the passion of traveling at love's breakneck speed
believing in someone else,
trusting them to catch you when you burn up
or to push you up when you can't remember the light.
It could never know the terrible loss of energy
when the one you love hurts,
speared by insensitive sparks.
It could never know
life in all its tiny fractured facets,
believing that one answer is all that is needed-
that lightning is impossible to contain.
I laugh at the sheer ludicrousness though-
Me?
A human lightning strike?
ABSURD.
But you take my hand again,
promising so many good moments ahead,
so many beautiful ideas
and dreams together,
and my heart leaps-
flying and flipping in ecstasy-
and I know-
Lightning strikes are one in a million,
and I was lucky enough to be struck by yours.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 6:54 PM UTC
Those golden days
Amidst fun and frolic,
Those cherished moments
Of smiles and laughter,
Are they not clinging
On our vine of memory?
Can we let them
Just fade into oblivion?
In our march
At breakneck speed,
To sustain in
This illusionary world,
Can we not
Keep in touch,
And associate again,
To reunite,
In a reunion?
Can we not
Spare some moments,
To lift our heads,
From the hectic schedule
Of our monotonous life,
To enliven our spirits,
And afresh rejuvenation,
Preserve our memories
From the brink of oblivion?
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
That night we were perfectly irrational,
your mother spoke like Rhea in an ancient
Greek tongue. We straddled the mighty
Norton five-hundred and joked of Marxist revolution.
She tightened her arms on the ascent.
Danger flurried down our spines and palms
began to sweat. At breakneck speed we whipped
round snaking grey meanders along the cliff edge.
Our compass set in lunar chatoyance
the stars were squinting feline lovers
as the night light washed upon her eyelids,
lashed with jagged stalactitic silhouettes.
We coasted down a sandy path; emerging from the hills
where the shepherds’ ruby grins were the nights hue.
Hearts cast in iron and minds sat on sand,
the sky snapped pink to blue, to navy dogtooth.
The spider grass on the dunes, the mirage
of twisting dancers and sand storm pirouettes.
Full beams off, we’d blink and stand amazed,
that very trace of privacy at night
which leaves you dazed, for unlike the crowded
light of day which knows no heart nor wonderment
moonlight dances on the pier, and bounces off the waves.
My first born son who parts the fog and clouds
to carry primal thunder; I gift to you,
the joy of life, and beauty of the oceans wealth.
The sand will bed and water cleanse,
the tide will carry and coral mend.
Until you, La Pedarosa of the floating world,
may sail over those who tell of any boat
you cannot sink and any fleet you cannot fell.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Another year almost come and gone and
Christmas day is upon us once again.
Today’s Christmases full
Of gifts, hour long lines, last minute shopping
And Stress!
Life moving at a breakneck pace; never slowing,
People not sparing a small coin to put in the Salvation Army bucket.
I wonder if we would all make better presents
Than the ones we receive on Christmas-
With how wrapped up we are.
There are those (not to be forgotten) who do something kind
For someone else; Sometimes anonymously.
Though I feel that, through the years,
We have forgotten what Christmas really is.
Christmas isn’t about bows, ribbons, or tags
Nor is Christmas about packages, boxes, or bags.
What is it then? Go back about 2000 years or so to the very first Chrismas
A very cold, dark, winter night in a Bethlehem barn a young woman gave birth
To a son Jesus “Emmanuel” meaning (‘God With Us’)
On that night the witnesses to Jesus’ birth were
A few shepherds from nearby fields,
The animals in the barn, 3 kings (wisemen they be), and a poor drummer boy.
The kings brought gifts to pay homage and honor to the babe
The drummer boy had no gift to bring, but played a song for the child
All was bright, calm, peaceful that night
The warmth of love and light
Overpowering the cold, dark, winter of that Bethlehem night
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
I walked to the place today
the place where our bridge
used to be.
It's still hidden
deep within my mind. I
know the way to the spot
all too well.
I stand and look across the chasm
The structures that anchored our bridge
to the canyon wall are now overgrown
with ivy and vines. The once
mighty body of the bridge itself
lies a thousand feet below, slowly
eaten away by the river of change.
The river that also eats away at our
canyon walls, pushing us ever further
apart.
I remember when we built that bridge.
I saw you across the ravine. You didn't
notice me, you were too busy smelling
the tiger lilies. I was in awe.
I felt like a fool pretending to be wise
I felt like a boy pretending to be a man
I yelled towards you, hoping you'd notice.
You did.
You smiled.
I almost died right there.
I sent you love poems on kites
You always blushed as you read
Then one day I threw over a line.
It was just the beginning.
Over the months, I built upon that
line, until I had constructed a
mighty bridge to
Span the gap
I was finally together with you
Everything was right. My life
was filled with a soothing light.
I remember the night our bridge collapsed.
I remember the hateful words and venemous,
acidic thoughts that became kindling.
We spit bile and gasoline soaked barbs at each other
soaking the bridge with discontent.
We hurled insults at breakneck speeds, creating
sparks with the collisions. The result was a towering
inferno between us. It was fueled by contempt and
selfishness.
Still we shouted, unaware of the permanence of what
we were doing
By the time we came to our senses, we were too late.
The bridge creaked and bowed as the fire consumed
it. I remember the last thing I saw before it fell. I saw
your eyes staring at me through the flames, your
beautiful eyes lit up by the moment. The tears
reflected off of your face.
The bridge finally plummeted into the abyss below. It
was a falling star of potential energy. What we could
have had. I cringe when I think of how black the river
looked that night.
Now I'm standing here at the spot that it all
started. I look up, and I see you on the other
side again. You're wearing a white dress and
a smile.
I smile back.
My heart glides.
Ready to begin anew
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
O Kypris and Nereids, undamaged I pray you
grant my brother to arrive here.
And all that in his heart he wants to be,
make it be.
And all the wrongs he did before, loose it.
Make him a joy to his friends,
a pain to his enemies and let there exist for us
not one single further sorrow.
May he willingly give his sister
her portion of honor, but sad pain
[ always an astounding action ]grieving for the past
[ breakneck, breath-taking ]
[ calling, crying. Can't. A ] millet seed
[ Disheartening downpour drenches. ] Once again no
[ Enclosed eyes evident, ears extended ]
[ Fatally flawed ]
[ Groaning ground grows grey ]but you Kypris
[ Hell-bent, heavy, hopelessly hurricaning ] setting aside evil [Insubordinately incoherent]
[ Just jolly ]
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
Explorer of ink smudges and paper cuts,
She pilots her pen along the roads of a page.
With crisscrossed legs, she travels with windswept hair,
Scrawling to him on a route of blue and the red:
*"Each moment we are together,
we write a new line of this poem."*
He rummages through leaves of paper,
Words scribbled upon the pieces
like freshly fallen snow upon tree branches.
He searches in vain, seeing only her emerald-brown eyes.
Finally, with words at a breakneck speed, he writes:
*"And yet, there will never be verses enough
to encompass the scope of our voyage."*
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
I might as well be a madman
Drive that rusty red truck straight up
Into a brick wall at breakneck speeds
What does society need with another romantic
A hopeless dreamer dreaming of a better world
Just throw out the tonic and fill my life with gin
Hand me the poison I’ve taken worse swill in
There is no way I am going to win
Against the corporate interest and the hate mongers
The powerful money makers that make us monsters
Just give me a good sixty to eighty miles per hour
Then watch me turn into a gooey blood shower
A swollen then exploding rare crimson flower
As my body shatters cause it never seems to matters
The politicians and the mad hatters run this show
And I don’t see this life getting any better
Cause I don’t believe society will heals it wounds
We’ll just be open sores for all to see
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
Whilst I was riding
early last eve
a peculiar thing happened
you'll scarcely believe
just to the left
out of the corner of my eye
I caught some motion
it was a surprise
the squirrel was fast
along the fence top did he
run along at breakneck speed
I chuckled to myself
but it did keep pace
it was clear to me
it wanted a race
A race it would be
man versus beast
defeat by the squirrel
was not to be
I could sense the challenge
in it's beady eyes
down the boulevard
we did fly
A man did approach
I veered to the left
he looked astonished
the squirrel just leapt
over the branch
that suddenly appeared
I took the advantage
and increased my speed
half a block to go
then the fence it would end
me and the squirrel
were neck and neck
racing for pride
who would be beat
we increased the pace
hearts setting the beat
then it happened,
a scrabble and a squeek
the squirrel had crashed
into a tree
the poor little guy
didn't see the branch
that had snaked across
his narrowing path
the end of the race
it happened to be
but defeat for the squirrel
brought no pride for me
I laughed to myself
and shook my head
and then I thanked God
for all he had sent.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
It is deafening silence
Beneath the lanky pine shrouded of darkness
And the bed of needles soft under hand,
Snow sits shallow and dulled behind a curtain,
The hushed breath of a boy out of hand,
And the bark rough against back,
And the stick of sap against the palm, and the screech
Of tires far afield, and the breakneck cold
Cries with hidden desires of dark shadows breach
In the low mountains of housed hills where silence holds.
Once when warmth was in the heart
Among the walls solid evergreen held,
As the food hot and the flames low, a boy unfolded
The truth of heart that smoldered in anguished meld,
Rushed and tumbled forced out upon the wold
Of snow. And alone then
In the darkening cold, run by the streets light
And the pavements white with turned ash and the men
Roosting asleep while the barking dog grew trite
Whom echoed among the covered grounds and then
Stumbled on with anxious limb,
Thus feet sting, the glacial frost bitterly bites,
The hooped ring luminescent and hung, the lanky pine
Comforting in its shelter bare of lights,
And there to rest and rebuild new spine.
“He knelt, he wept, he prayed,”
By the hurt of his heart feeble in the dense dark night
And huddled bellow the knotting pine though in the homes,
In the past warmth, in the slow light,
At the loves gracious hold, he wished to roam.
“He knelt” in spindled branches,
“He wept” being cast out, “he prayed” to the hidden gods
That he be found rescued restored to right
Darkness pushed aside by the cars beam and the boy at odds
And the shimmering diamond studded earth and the black white
Into that light of promise
He wished to go but he sits eyes closed to darkness
With out the car which passed and broken he stands.
His heart wrenched breaking him choked by the collar
And up the way whence came to the shattered lands
It is deafening silence,
Reentering in the house torn, in the whirl-
Wind of heated battle, into his room
He crawls, in the slow light of the dreams world.
And he rises with new light arching through the sky.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Bright white light
guiding a freeway
with only one lane
Into grey mist
up ahead
So deep is the truth in view
it will burst the engine
urge to roar
Smothering courage
like the fog,
Comforting
Beat. Bleeding. Hands.
Grind the asphalt
One. Still Goes. Searching.
As pain demands
We speed into a breakneck rush until our heart's left
Wrecked
Dumbest one
Directionless soul
You're only one left
of many who
tried before
died deep in the snow when shown
memories bled into present
(Lonely, Lovely)
Best you sleep
where these festering
bodies release lingering poison
to the infinite wreckage
Or. . .
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Game face.
Ready, set, go.
Just another race.
Get ready, 'cause I'm set.
If I had bootstraps I'd be pickin' myself up.
Lying in the dirt can only last so long.
We all have dreams, but fear reaching out.
But now I'm running, breakneck pace.
Like a bat out of hell, this fire rages.
Motivation my friend, how long it has been.
Shake hands like time hasn't passed.
Ready, set, go.
Things to do, people to see.
Greatness and such to achieve.
Ready, set, go.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
The flat desert terrain melts together
when you’ve been driving all night
sliding through twisted canyons filled with nothing
but rugged gray brush and ***** sand.
Even in complete darkness the desert air is still hot and dry
every breath harsh and dusty as it’s drawn deep into my lungs.
We round another of the endless corners on this highway
the engine of our rapidly aging vehicle shakes
as it soars along this empty stretch of nothing.
She sits quietly
almost comatose
blankly staring forward
with occasional slight smirks of morbid fascination
each time an insect smacks the windshield at
breakneck speeds.
She used to love hanging out of the top of sunroofs
letting the breeze flow past her body
dancing
my obscenely beautiful angel.
But we are long past that now.
When we met we were that couple
everyone knew
would be perfect for each other
but horrible for everyone around them
We did all the awful things most people our age did
but no one would have pictured us on this path
On occasion she shoots me hateful looks
silently accusing me
of ruining our perfect romance
with weakness when confronting the things
we've done.
At the edge of the horizon, a downtrodden motel
our destination
and tomorrow's headlines.
I don’t say anything to her
I just nod slightly
For me this is a matter of survival
because without her I could not survive.
Vague pulls of morality tell me this is wrong
but I remind myself my morality is reserved
only for her
Morality is for people that have everything
and I have only her.
We select our target by the cloudy glow
of a left on television that will muffle
any sound
The flimsy door splinters against the hardened sole
of my combat boot while
her hardened soul howls with tragic insanity,
and as my angel's wings grow black
the grisly screams are lost to the sweltering desert air.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
she's gold on one side
silver on the other
heartened and free
she runs like a car wreck
racing at breakneck speed
trudging through sand to conjoin
two-fold into one.
little passes by her that goes unnoticed.
she drinks in every opportunity
to swallow what ever happening will feed her today's lesson.
equanimity hostility frivolity passivity.
she knows the streets have taught her more
than she will ever forget.
and she can remember how it felt
to taste ***** in her mouth
when she looked in the mirror
that mocked her every breath.
she tries to back step
and unmake a bed
that she's told she made
and must lie in
for the rest of her life.
she wants to call consignment
and have it undelivered
but they won't take
bug ridden
**** stained
sprung and un-stuffed
pieces of junk that carried
peoples dreams in the dark.
there's no worth, they say.
so she's left
carting around holes and dead air.
melted glass and ***** cartridges.
spent fits and broken tin.
wondering
what kind of legacy this is
for a very pretty tousle haired girl
that trusts her with unfeigned eyes
and believes in super mom?
she cries at night
and tries in the morning
being as tangible as they expect-
but in that socketed place
that holds spun sugar contemplation
she buries herself.
one two-fold parades all day
playing puppet gurrl games.
she lives in a land of
pots of gold and rainbows
clover and blue moons
moving one step at a time
towards what's expected
because she knows nothing else.
day in and day out
running like a car wreck-
gold on one side
and silver on the other.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 12:04 PM UTC
They ran past me
at breakneck speed
to capture
those
last minute
trinkets
of love
I never cared
much for anyway
until I no longer
had them
to look
forward
to
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
.
Still pale grey earth is turned,
Deep is the loam moisted,
Lone by the Ploughman.
The rows of the brushed patches,
Sweating the breakneck blood,
Are painted by labours.
Messiah doors out cathedral,
With iron plod anoints the soil,
Exposed unto mercy sun.
His hands are knobbed in stone,
His eyes searing of the star,
His face dark as deep loam.
Each day ablutions of sod earth,
Heaved out tilling unfree wills,
Burdens of harnessed beast.
Dark is the turned loam moisted,
Water flame heat of veined mist,
Seeds sown explode to bloom.
After thorny works, crowned blood,
Sun leaves to wine red fruition,
Ploughman maker is done.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC
Disguised in a three-piece suit,
the Cowboy has made off with Helen of Troy.
Already leagues from the rubble of city walls,
the dust rises in billows as they
fly away breakneck on his Trusty Steed.
They hear the echoing uproar breaking
at their heels. Helen's hair is a streaming
banner of war, skin flushing a ruddy apple red.
She thinks of Golden Paris in his silence
reposed in long limbed quiet on their gilded bed,
waiting for her, for the fire to peel away
their faces, the scent of burnt fruit and decadent spoils
our sacrifice to the tittering gods, the insatiable Aphrodite.
But Helen rides.
The wind smells like foreign spices waiting for
her tongue. She breathes in the sweat on the back
of the Cowboys neck. Freedom is musk and cotton,
the rumbling murmur of water channels and ravines
rocking under their feet.
They sink into the western horizon and
I turn away from their embrace,
pausing to watch glorious Troy fall into
fast decay under their lengthening shadow.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 4:51 AM UTC
you hadn't spoken to me in four days
so i mixed enough screwdrivers and desperation
to mistake his strawberry blond hair for your black
and i can't remember saying yes or no
but i woke up covered in blood and bruises.
i patiently waited 23 years for love
and let solely your lips on mine
preserved for three in anticipation
only to give up in a grimy bathroom
to a boy with no last name
and a girl awaiting him upstairs.
life is not always a storybook.
later that night a girl sobbed on my bare chest
and told me never to trust anyone
that people will invariably let me down
that she wished someone had warned her
when she was like me
she said my wide-eyed naivete
was a bulls-eye
and i must not charge into battle
without armor and sword.
maybe this was a lesson i was supposed to learn
when you slurred it angrily last year
but my words are my white flag
and i've never been much of a fighter
so i'll start my breakneck pace towards heartache
with the exhilaration of foresight
and blinders for those with shields
until you cut me down.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
Silence echoes so loud in my tunnel
Breakneck the speed that I flew down the funnel
In bright psychodelia my eyes cry in pain
Migrainous headache hits my brain cells again.
Analgesic no use in this situation
Send me to sleep, causing much aggravation
The pain still remains as always it does
The silence so noisy, like a gigantic buzz.
So to my bed and to lie down again
Under the duvet, my warm comfy friend
Back to the sleep and my tunnel of pain
The tunnel revealing this time, a loud train.
Train thunders over my temples this time
I declare migraine headaches - violent crime!
©Joe Wilson – Migraine tunnels…2015
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
We failed the summit that year
Diamond Peak
summer of 1974
There on a razor's edge ridge
sheer drop to the east
thousands of feet
certain death on that side
no safe path forward
And the way we had come
an arduous boulder-strewn slope
Angle of Repose.
As we pondered our next move,
I told my friend a story
that had just come
into my thoughts.
A young man,
as we were,
promised his friends
he would fly.
To their horror
he stretched his arms
toward the sun
and leaped into the chasm.
Most saw a young man
in the long arc of his demise
falling to earth.
But one sharp-eyed friend
saw a fierce bird of prey
come rising
with the winds
and land
there
on that ridge
where we sat
and from which he fell.
The story was a presence
there between us.
We sat together
lost in its meaning.
And then it happened.
A bird of prey,
entirely white,
unknown to us,
perhaps unknown
to Science,
came rising with the winds
from below
from where that boy in the story
had fallen.
It landed on the outcrop
from which he
(in the story)
had jumped.
This magnificent creature
turned its impenetrable gaze
to us
and screamed.
The instant the bird alighted
and flew down the mountainside
we leapt to our feet
to follow.
What came next
took place in myth.
In that myth,
we were heroes
able to run at full speed -
some would call it a breakneck pace -
down that long mountain slope
Boulder-strewn.
Without fear
Without hesitation
in full stride
one boulder to the next.
Boulders the size of cottages
Some the size of a grey whale
mysteriously beached on a mountain.
Flying more than running.
With the falcon as a guide
we wandered the afternoon
through trackless
wilderness.
A timeless afternoon
in the Garden.
And then humbly
back to camp.
You might not believe this story.
But it is a story
as true as myth
and every bit as real.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC