The carriage ushers forth the dead-

The Reaper sits beside-

And I am holding mushroom thread-

Along for quite a ride.

Upon the grass, a dewy slat-

Petunia's furrowed brow-

Existing paranormal pit

Insists that we all bow-

Unguarded garden of delight 

Succinctly shedding shame-

A tombstone etched and partly writ-

Inscriptions of a name-

Beneath the soil- some six feet down-

She waits without remorse- 

American in skull and bone-

She hops atop his horse.

Unmarried time- a cloth display-

The white gown full of sod-

Escaping rooted leafy ply-

Removed from under God-

Inclined to wink and sink the stars-

Unlike the Sentry's breath-

Her wordy echoes birth a stare-

We poesy rosy Death ...

Once, long ago

And far, far away,

Among memories now faded gray,

Life was sweet, bitter, rich;

A mosaic, full of sunsets, vibrant violet hues

Darkened as the day gave way to night

Beside that secluded little lake.

I remember denim and lace,

Pungent aromas, sensual perfume.

Cricket legs sawing, acorns falling,

Fire crackled and popped.

My Calloused fingers caressed silken skin,

Circled the sunken naval,

Traced the bulging line of demarcation

About the swollen bosom,

Glistening like dew

Beneath a milky moon,

Showered by its ghostly glow,

The cry of a wild loon

Muffled by my mouth pressed against her lips,

Tasting her sweat.

I savored those moments,

Drank deep the wine of youth,

Praised God for gracious gifts.

But now she’s gone and the world is cold, colorless.

Pain cast down the heavens to hell,

Heaved and pulled the axis of my life

Off kilter.

My mind now out of joint,

Passion eviscerated,

Thankfulness dismayed,

Joy far removed,

I lie in limbo between the high and lowest low,

Frustrated,

My anger, impotent, smoldering ash.

The loss too much, I fled,

Abandoned all burden, all risk,

Embraced a world shrouded in mist,

A chilling blanket wrapped tight,

My heart numb,

Separated from love, from God;

Alone, afraid,

So far away from where I used to be,

So distant…

The mind, a map of missive source-

The heart, a compass of divorce-

The ticking beats around a tread 

Upon, below, beside a thread 

Connecting water, weary streams-

Into dimensions building dreams

Exposing subtle sorrow, loss-

A Coleridge laden albatross-

The beak, a feather, and a bone

Extinct except for dust and stone-

Beneath the ocean in a shoal,

I trek the temperamental soul ...

And lo, Palestinian government's hold

Extended to checkpoints about.

In charge, Vera Baboun, a woman extolled-

The first female mayor with clout ...

Her place over Bethlehem filled her with cause-

A city where poverty shone.

Yet so many obstacles' unwanted pause

Rebuked her desire to atone.

The hopeful arrived, Rachel Checkpoint, the place,

In thousands and thousands each day.

They called it "300," a foul, rotten space,

Insertion, for jobs they would pray.

And still there were many, so many, indeed

The barbed railings caused quite a stir.

Those desperate hands clenching on, forced to bleed

In this way would daily occur.

So many desiring employment within,

But the walls and powers around

Refused those who waited, downbeat in chagrin ...

But the masses stood fast to their ground.

There Joseph held out for "the ticket to life"-

Permission to work in the land.

The line smelled of feces and urinal strife;

He reached out to hold Mary's hand.

The bicycle held her remote, tattered shape;

Her belly spoke, "I am with child."

Above all the shouting, she could not escape;

The people were all going wild.

Her faith filled her spirit, though they were denied,

And Joseph looked back with regret.

A scene full of sorrow, she quietly cried.

Her water broke, leaving her wet.

A brief stint of anger, the child was not his,

Yet Joseph had promised his love.

The two would soon marry, and sadly, like this-

Around them, the crowd gave a shove.

The terrified look on her face broke his trance.

Beneath her, the soil told a tale.

The walls kept them outside of Bethlehem's glance;

He prayed they would still yet prevail.

As Mary looked on, Joseph parted the crowd,

Insisting they gave them some room.

She slid from the bike, as they were not allowed

Inside there, her heart full of gloom.

A mixture of fear and emotional joy

Came on her as they found a spot.

A voice whispered, "Soon will arrive here your boy-

A savior for those who have not."

While Joseph pushed on to an alley ahead,

She listened beyond the crowd's wrath.

"The child you are birthing will raise up the dead;

A crown for all nations, his path.

His name shall be wonderful counselor, king!

The light of the world; Son of Man.

And food to the needy and hungry, he'll bring

By gift of the prophecy's plan.

Above, God exalted had chosen your womb;

His Spirit selected your worth.

Oh, glory to you and your soon to be groom!

The messengers herald his birth!"

Now Mary broke down in a heaving sob's snare,

Her mind finding such a new peace.

Nobody believed her; her innocence bare,

Her child had been given release.

For months she insisted no man stole her youth.

The world cast aside her soft pleas.

Believe it or not, the voice offered her proof.

She shared this with Joseph in ease.

He loved her, accepting her ludicrous speech.

And then the voice spoke in his mind.

"Now, Joseph, take heed for your Mary, in reach,

Is truthful; the world has been blind."

A trash dump turned over with old cloth and wood 

Became her hotel in the street.

The shelter provided the two understood-

They had nothing with them to eat.

A Muslim man came forth and offered his aid;

A couple of shepherds did, too.

Together the magical scene they displayed

Gave charity far gone renew.

The Jews and the Muslims had long been at war,

And still they were human design.

The grace of that moment would be sung in lore;

The birth of the child was divine.

A couple of rats, then a dog and a cat 

All gathered; the crowd came to see

The boy who compelled them to quiet their spat,

Imparting on them joyous glee.

The stars in the sky shined a brilliant bright light;

By now the dark followed the sun.

A beggar announced this was their holy night,

And people felt kinship as one.

The news reached the mayor who came to endorse 

A standard for setting the stage.

She pulled out her cell phone- a picture, of course- 

This image would make the front page ...

Good morning, Prosers,

It’s week fifty-four of the Prose Challenge of the Week! Last week saw you all writing about manipulation. We had shed-loads of superb entries to read, so thank you everyone.

Before we find out which one of you takes the $100 prize and the runner-up prize of 1000 coins, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

Prose Challenge of the Week #54: Modernize the nativity story. Make it edgy and poignant. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and will be placed first on our Spotlight page and have their piece sent out via newsletter, exclusively. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit

Get writing now

Back to the winner of week fifty-three. We have read all of your entries and thoroughly enjoyed every single one. There can only be one winner and one runner up, however, and after much deliberation the runner up, and the recipient of 1000 coins is, @RubyPond with their piece “Suckered.” Congratulations! Now for the champion of the challenge, our winner this week is, @Confusheyusss with their piece “The Victim.” Congratulations to you, we will be in touch shortly to arrange transfer of your winnings!

That’s all for this week, here’s to a week filled with all things Prose!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.