As I wander through my memories, one thing stands out quite clear—

that your presence in my life has filled a void within my soul,

and you’ve given me a gift I know I never can repay.

Most importantly, you saved me from myself; I thank you dear.

While providing for our future has become my major goal,

I will never be too focused to bring joy to you each day.

Now whenever something happens, good or bad, you’re always near.

If I’m ever feeling broken, with a smile you make me whole,

and the love you shower on me, thrills me more than I can say.

Having you standing beside me means there's nothing left to fear,

and no matter what life throws at me, with punches I will roll;

for tomorrow promises to be much sweeter than today.

I never wanted you to feel

such pain within your heart;

please trust my love for you is real

although we are apart.

I had to leave, but you must know

I hated that I had to go,

and pray that you can start

to find the strength to help you heal.

In all our lives, you’ve never known,

the loneliness and fear

that comes from thinking you’re alone

and no one else is near.

We started out the best of friends,

I truly thought we’d see the end

while hand in hand, my dear;

Alas, sweetheart, that dream’s undone.

Still children when we came to be,

and not yet out of school;

you were the princess of my dreams,

and I your comic fool.

Our friends and families told us how

we were too young for life-long vows—

exceptions to the rules,

after we grew, you married me.

In time, we made our dreams come true

and watched our family grow.

Our children, and grandchildren too,

through them our love still flows.

Now even though my time has come,

your earthly work is not yet done;

so live, my love, and know

from heaven, I’ll be watching you.

© 2020 Dusty Grein

Note: This is a neoclassic form, known as a gemstone. It is very strict on its 32 line usage of rhyme and meter, and though it can be challenging to craft, it is also quite satisfying when it comes together.

Dusty Grein is a father of five, a grandfather of 14, a novelist, an award winning classical poet, a graphics designer, and the managing editor at RhetAskew Publishing.

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Note: This little bio is still true, although it seems meager when weighed against the enormity of my writing, both published and unpublished... the bulk of which is safely stored here at Prose. As the tribal elder for my family now—we lost my mother in June of 2020—I have learned a few lessons. The most important just may be that we never stop learning and growing, and increasing your knowledge can help bring you closer to attaining wisdom . . . but only if you filter it through your experiences and temper it with emotion.

Hiding silently

here in the dark,

I hear her foorsteps

descending the cellar stairs.

Scalpel in hand,

I slowly grin.

Soft sunlight slowly brightens the day, and leaf shadows begin to play on the canvas roof of the tent. I come awake to the soft serenade of a songbird, the heady aroma of fresh campfire coffee, and the sizzling of bacon and eggs. I know Grandpa has been up for a while now, but for the next few minutes I lay back, snuggled deep into my sleeping bag, floating gently between the relaxation of a peaceful night under the stars, and the vitality that comes from spending the day exploring the forest. It occurs to me that life may never be quite this perfect again; but for now, I’m here with my family, and the summer stretches out before me like an endless road—no school, no homework, no chores. This is the stuff my dreams will always be made of.

Mickey strode through the short grass, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. His cap was pulled down low, and he avoided looking at anyone. Maybe that way they would never be able to identify him, just in case his plan went south. The scowl hidden in shadows under the brim of his baseball hat etched lines all the way across his forehead and drew the corners of his mouth down.

[Peter Billings was going to pay.]

These words had become a mantra in Mickey’s mind, and his resolve for revenge solidified with each repetition.

The morning had started out great. Mickey was happy as he arrived at the ball field; after all, he was supposed to pitch in today’s game. But then coach said he heard about a comment Mickey had made the day before, and had benched him. It was all Peter’s fault; he had told the coach what Mickey had said—in confidence—and then that smug jerk actually had the nerve to laugh about it, in front of the rest of the team!

Mickey stormed away from the field, and was on his way home when the plan came to him. He knew where to find the gun, and he decided then, that Peter was going to pay for being a snitch.

***

When Mickey reached the ball field, he ducked under the bleachers. The weight of the loaded gun tucked into his belt at the small of his back gave him all the courage he needed.

He knew the loading of the gun—with vinegar and black ink, instead of water—was nothing short of inspired.

[Oh yeah, Peter was going to pay all right.]