The Dying Days of Autumn

             Cool air penetrated my soul as it tore over my skin and hair. A dull green mossy texture tickled at my hands and feet. My eyelids flew open. Brilliant vermillion leaves hung frailly in my eyes. Their marvelous color was intensified by the cerulean sky behind them. Again, the wind tore across my face, pushing my hair over my eyes. The moist ground had sunken into my dress, amplifying the harsh bite of the chilling air. Brushing the tangled hair from my face, I noticed to my left a modest creek. The water mumbled quietly to itself as it passed by. It must have been discussing this strange girl staring at it reveling. With the wind’s next snap at me, the leaves looking down on me began to chatter.

            “What a strange girl!” The oak exclaimed.

            “A strange one, indeed!” The maple replied.

            “Oh, gloomy leaves,” My lips, moist yet cold, moved slowly. The leaves didn’t reply. They simply looked onward, still gawking at this artless child. I chuckled cruelly to myself, “All in good time, my dear leaves. You’ll be laying here with me soon enough.” A wicked smile cursed my lips:

                        Autumn days come fast,

                        A sign that life will not last.

                        But while each soul lives,

                        Give everything you can give.

                        Every leaf my must fall.

                        Just recall who they fall on.

            “Haha! A silly girl; a silly poem?” a gnarly voice shrieked from the leaves:

                        Big black feathers fly.

                        My haughty laugh cries and cries!

                        You sing awful songs!

                        Your petty rhythm is all wrong.

                        Return to your home.

            This Raven was a poet, not simply the subject! But who is he to give this girl advice? He knows not, I came here to die!

            “You’re a young girl, I see. Why lie here in the cold? Why come to this place? No humans would dare tread here!”

            “You see, Raven,” I countered, “My love, my darling husband of just two months; he’s taken a ride on Epona’s saddle.” At this the Raven scowled. He flapped his swarthy wings about then sighed.

            “A swordsman, was he?”

            “Yes, dark bird.”

            “Gone off to face the Romans?” Silence was all there was the dismal dark angel. When he looked down upon me, those chatty leaves covered me. All of them were saffron, crimson, and ocherous. “She too has gone to Otherworld. Autumn is, after all, the dying days. At least she shall be with her swordsman. Goddesses be with her.” And this that, the fierce fowl flew aloft.

            “What a strange bird!” The oak exclaimed.

            “A strange one, indeed!” The maple replied.     

           

                         

Protégé

In 1994, a chipper college boy bought himself a dandy new car.

He was a beautiful piece of metal.

His exterior was a shinny slate grey.

A daring red stripe hugged His sides.

The boy adorned his beloved new ride with a Virginia Tech logo with the name of his fraternity, all bright in orange.

A proud you man.

But things did not stay quite so lovely for car and driver.

The years came and went.

Two children made the boy a man.

Their sticky stains covered His floor and doors of the back seat.

Their grabbing hands slowly tore down the fabric from the ceiling.  

Each day the sun beat down on the grey vehicle’s paint, permanently scarring Him.

A dink here, a scratch there,

Time shaped and aged Him.

As time passed by, the economy fell.

The man lost his job.

The man lost his children, for the monthly check he could no longer write.

The police came and took them both away.

The car found Himself abandoned.

Somewhere off 360, He found Himself sitting by the road.

Big yellow numbers were scribbled on His windows.

“$800,”

A tiny, hand written note was under His worn wiper blades.

“For sale as is…”

 This quickly scribbled note listed all the car’s faults.

Not worth anything to anyone anymore,

Alone He sat.

He wept at night, wishing to move from this horrid hill.

The summer heat roasted His insides.

The trash sat, nearly composting in His cab and trunk.

Old food, infants clothing, photographs of children, and old court summons all had been collected inside.

One day, a man passing by noticed the old thing atop the hill.

He phoned his niece and told her of the deal.

A few days later, He had found himself a new home.

The girl scrubbed away His dirt and grim, and she cleaned out all of His trash.

After a bit of care and love,

Again He was happy.

He felt complete.

Lady of Death

Dear lady of death seized him,
Blade murder for queenly warrior
She wrought evil
Bride haughty
Wisely woke, grim with candle,
Slayer of clansmen;
Alive, haste in days fated  with slaughter.
Unhallowed, wrathful dawning day
Gone to rest– sorrow.
The sea spake–
“I claim thou, chillest queen!”
Fathomless terror
Uttered loathsome heaven!

Wolfy's Lament

The Monsters of Love, Society, and Judgment




Love can be so beautiful; yet it can tear you apart at the same time. Ironically, the ones you love and the only ones who can ever leave you hurt, scarred, and broken. Even if that person’s love burns for you, as yours does for his/hers, the world itself can be sabotage. Society tells you who is right or wrong to love—but isn’t that for us to decide?






I awoke. I was laying in my bed, tangled up in a mass of blankets and sheets. I turned my head to look at my alarm clock. “3:00 am exactly,” I sighed to myself. A strange eeriness crept through the darkness. Now disgruntled, I sat up and turned on the small lamp on the shelving next to my bed.

I then laid back down; I felt safer in the light. I began to close my eyes again, but just as I comforted myself, a loud whirring jolted my system. I gasped and flung myself upright. “Incoming Call… William Smith,” read across my blue-lit cell phone screen. I hastily grabbed the device and flipped it open.

“Hello?” I said quietly.

“Sorry,” the voice on the other side was shaky and desperate. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I can’t sleep, and I just needed t hear your voice right now, sweetie.”

“You didn’t wake me, darling,” I assured him, “I can’t sleep either.”

Silence screamed at us.

“I can’t believe it’s already today.” Billy sniffled, obviously holding back tears. “I’m not ready… I won’t make it if I have to go back!”

My mind flashed to several weeks ago. Billy and I were sitting on his grandparent’s front porch. The weather that day was beautiful; however, the mood of the moment was dreadful. “They’re going to make me leave if this Walmart thing doesn’t work out…”

“Why?” I pleaded.

“He never wanted me here in the first place! If it weren’t for Nana, I wouldn't be here with you now. He’s been a jerk to me since day one; he hopes that that will make me leave! But he doesn’t know… He doesn’t understand that all the crap he puts me through is worth it just to be able to see you! He’s just being that way because he thinks that I’ll ruin his reputation.”

“How would you do that?” My voice showed how utterly disgusted I was by that statement.

“He thinks he needs his family to be good Christians since he’s a preacher. He thinks that you and I being together is wrong—you’re so young and all.” Billy clenched his fists, “Selfish bastard! He only cares about himself and how he looks!”

I’d never seen him so angry. That’s the thing to remember here: Billy never gets mad. He’s always laidback in nature and kind of heart. Now here he was, his blood boiling from the fire in his heart.

“Sierra?” his calming, yet sorrowful tone brought me back to the now—he was still in Dundas; I was still sitting in bed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…”

“You got quiet.”

“Mm-hmm.” I closed my eyes and pictured his face. I pictured the moment I met him. I pictured all of the times he made me laugh when I wanted to scream and cry. I pictured all the times he held me in his arms and told me he loved me. Then I pictured myself alone. I pictured Billy back in Sevierville. Tears welled up in my eyes; I chocked them back. “You should get some sleep, love.”

“No,” he whimpered.

“It’s a long drive back to Tennessee.”

“…I don’t want to go.”

I stayed silent, trying not to cry.

“Please…” his pleading voice ripped my heart to shreds, “Promise me one thing.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Don’t forget about me.”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. Every emotion inside of me poured from my eyes as a salty liquid. “I’ll never forget you, Billy!” You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me! You’re all I have left that keeps me going each day! I could never forget you, even if I tried…. You’re my world.”

“Oh, sweetie…” I heard him inhale sharply, “I love you so much. Please don’t cry. I’ll be back here as soon as I can.”

Without even saying “Goodbye,” he hung up. I clenched my arms and screamed as loudly as I could. I hoped my head would explode, or I’d have an aneurism, or something! Anything was better than this.

I hushed myself, remembering what time it was. I got up from my bed and picked up a pen and piece of random paper that had been lying in the floor. I jotted down these words:

“Isn’t it ironic that we spend our whole lives looking for something, and then when we find it, it’s ripped away from us as if we aren’t worthy?”