Crossing Fate
https://www.theprose.com/post/709806/fate-complex-church
There’s a beautiful garden behind a church by my home.
There’s a few small gravestones marking the lives of souls long past.
There’s a sculpture of a man spinning with the stars.
There’s a woman confronting her fate.
She’s carving her name into a tree that passed away, crashed down, and died.
Now the tree is a bridge covered in soft moss.
It crosses a river with everchanging waters.
The waters might drown the woman.
The fallen tree might save her.
Crossing the river will undoubtedly change her.
She can use the fallen tree to cross the waters or she can try to cross without a bridge.
There’s only one thing the woman can’t do.
She can’t avoid crossing the river.
She can’t stand in one place forever.
She must keep spinning with the stars.
She must confront her fate.
She can watch the moon wax and wane for months or years,
But eventually she must cross.
She must let the everchanging waters change her,
She can let the bridge save her.
Her purpose lies on the other side of a fallen tree.
She’s carving her name here to mark the soul of a woman passing by.
Oleanders in June
He entered the club shortly after midnight, grabbed a broken bar stool and popped a squat next to me. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He reached into his pocket and pulled out seven crumbled one dollar bills. His jeans were faded and poor. “How much for a gin and tonic?” I stared straight ahead, pretending I was interested in the shitty soccer game blasting above the cash register. “What are you, deaf? I asked how much a drink is around here.“ I felt my skin tighten and my forehead retract. “Do I look like a bartender to you?” He scooted closer. I refused to make eye contact, “Look, buddy! I don’t make small talk with your kind.” I downed the sugary drink I wholeheartedly despised and made my way upstairs to look for Tommy. Mid way up the stairs I felt the blood rush from my face, three loud booms. BLAP BLAP BLAP. Mr. Gin didn’t get his drink. One to the head, two to the chest. His blood soaking quickly into the porous wood, his brains splattered like a Dali clock all over the tator tots and uneaten burger I left behind. Tommy looked up at me. “Sorry you had to see that, kid.” I shrugged and kept walking up the stairs. My left hand trembled violently as I grabbed the banister. Flashes of running though an empty field during a hurricane flooded my vision. The ghost of my mother calling to me from the blue room to the left of the parlor. “Keep climbing child, you’re almost there.” When I reached the top of the stairs, I collapsed in a flood of silent tears.
My mother’s ghost wrapping around me like a warm blanket and then instantly the room went dark. I began to dream of oleanders in June.
Life Within The Halls
In the heart of Emerald City, Hill Academy stands as the epitome of high school dreams. It's a prestigious institution where the city's elite send their children. For Pearl Adams, gaining admission seemed like a ticket to a new life among the wealthy. However, what appeared to be a golden opportunity became her greatest mistake.Within the opulent halls of this A-class school, renowned for its accolades and stellar reputation, lurk shadows and concealed secrets. Behind its pristine facade, Hill Academy conceals dark mysteries. And when Pearl's life tragically ends due to the horrors of sexual abuse not to mention more, justice becomes her driving force. From beyond the grave, she returns, determined to expose the corruption and seek the justice she deserves. As the story unfolds, the dark truth emerges.
In this gripping tale of resilience and redemption, witness the power of one girl's unwavering pursuit of truth amidst a web of secrets. Prepare to be captivated by "Life Within The Halls: A Journey Through High School," where no secret remains buried forever."
Please let me know if you need the book. Thank you!
Love on the Railway
Chaperoned
By public transport
And the table between them,
Her eyes looked across on full beam.
He looked at his watch,
Six weeks, three days, five hours,
two minutes, and that first second.
He considered her as a father might
His first born child, the wonder
Of love, paralysed him in thought,
There was nothing beyond her,
Nothing before her, nothing without her,
For her part, She know there was
no other, just the one soul,
with two train tickets
© Bernard Pearson
Life and Death are Similar to the Changing of the Seasons
We view the changing of the seasons as a beautiful thing. The fall leaves falling down with their vibrant and peaceful colors. The first fall of soft, fluffy snow embarking a chilly and cozy winter. The first bloom of the flowers in the spring. The first sunshine-filled day marking summer. The seasons change, just as the seasons of our life change. We view a new season as a beautiful thing, I think our life can also be viewed as a beautiful season in itself. Samhain, Souls Day and Dia de los Muertos all share a common theme - the celebration of a life. Death is a sad, scary and honestly confusing part of life. Just as the seasons change, so do our lives. The loss of a loved one often leaves us longing for more, reminiscing on fond memories, and wishing we had more time. Similar to when winter begins, we often miss the warmer weather. The passing of a loved one can be compared to the seasons - all seasons end eventually. It can be considered a beautiful, new change. Something that marks the start of a new chapter in life (or a new season).
Patterns change over time,
that's the thing I've noticed in life,
the Impossible, in shadows,
the way it stretches and yawns.
it's always blackened and dark,
and sometimes there's red, viscous,
or orange, and incisors of white,
on closing my eyes at Night.
and other times there's blue,
even brown and yellow, cider
like in phases of the moon,
when the Sun is splayed out.
There's just no pure hue.
10.23.2023
Patterns challenge @TheWolfeDen
Beauty of Silence
To sit in silence, How I forgot what to do in it. I wonder if we need some noise to drown out that buzzing in our ears. That ringing in our ear that is left over. When the phone's off, the speaker dies, yet that silent screech is heard from ear to ear. How noisy silence has become.
Maybe that ringing is the celebration of our ears to finally take a break. Electronics replaced by the soothing sound of the wind, the lullaby of the rain hitting the window. How pleasant those sounds are. Sounds that can only be appreciated in silence. When was the last time you were in silence.
Not to sleep, but to think. The silence that allows you to be in the moment. To let yourself be intertwined with the world around you. We've come to fear silence. Preferring a storm heard over a speaker, then to sit silently listening from shelter.
The silence scares me as well. I don't know what thoughts might come with it. Because I haven't known silence for long. So once I'm in it's presence, my mind finally feels its opportunity to fully manifest. I guess because it has missed silence, it's old friend.