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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Upon A Cabin In The Woods I Came,
On A Cold Day In November,
Purity Stands In Hell,
The Old Man Sits,
Into A Desert.

Submitted: June 20, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 20, 2019



Upon A Cabin In The Woods I Came


Upon a cabin in the woods I came,

Across a man thus likely insane,

For high upon the ferns of green,

He sat in a window barely seen.

The tap of thoughts slayed the paper of white,

From his tiny window he peered in the night,

As tho to see that what cannot be said,

The trickling of madness seeped from his head.

For was it on paper fled his thought's device,

Long lost ideas stole in the night,

Or was it upon the wake did he hear the wolf howl,

To see the blank pages from his own mind's cowl.

Never again the trickling thoughts convey,

For once on paper the mind's thoughts are slayed.




On A Cold Day In November



It was the coldest day in November when he died. Not much notice was given to him by the people that walked by him. On a busy street in the downtown core the hustle and bustle swept away any concerns for the old bum laying there dead. He looked as though he was lost a long time ago. Holes in his shoes with the laces undone. His pants looked like they hadn't been washed in months as did he. The silvery gray hair that was his crown was matted and dirty. The overcoat that covered his body looked like it went through hell and back. It should have been retired a long time ago. Yet it was the only thing that offered comfort to him. It held value to him. For within the inside pocket was a Meritorious Service Cross. It had become the only thing that offered recognition for what he and his comrades did together so many years ago.

"Mommy", a young boy asked his mother as they walked by him, "why is that man laying on the street?"
"Don't look at him", she replied, "he's just a bum".
"He doesn't look well mommy", the young child replied.
"He's probably passed out from drinking too much".

The young child looked back at the old man laying there on the street. He saw the shins of the old man. They had scars on them. A permanent reminder forever etched into the soul of the old man's being.

"Mommy", the child said.
"What", the mother said with a tone of anger in her voice. She got tired quickly when her son started asking questions like he was now doing.
"I think he's dead", the child said as he stopped walking.
He turned towards the old man and pointed at the eyes of the old man. They had started clouding over and to the child that just wasn't right.
"See", he said to her.
The mother was now loosing her temper with her son, "He's just a bum now come on, lets go". She took a step back and grabbed her son by the arm. She yanked him forward and continued to walk away.
"Mommy", the young child started.
"Shut up about it", she started to yell at the boy and dragged him along the street.
The young boy knew that something wasn't right here. He knew his mother was wrong. They continued down the street until they got to the intersection. The boy thought about it a second then broke free of his mother's hold. He ran back along the street to where the old man was laying. He stood there motionless staring at him.
The child's mother could be heard screaming from a distance.

It wasn't the first time the city walls heard a mother's scream. Many years ago as they walked through the streets these city walls were filled with the tears and cries of the mother's of many young men. A thousand tears and a thousand cries as mothers said a final goodbye to their children, most who would never return home. The few that did return would never be complete. Left in the soil of foreign land lays the blood and souls of many that fought. Many that believed something wasn't right and stood to oppose it.
On a cold day in November I stand.





Purity Stands In Hell


In the dying twilight of the evening star I sit and ponder the fate that has now arrived.

I juggle with the thought of my existence in the muddy trench that now has me in its' folds,

The mighty legs that stood this man have fallen awry, never to stand tomorrow.

The slivering shards of pain eat through my flesh taunting my mind for death.

And my breath becomes quick.


From afar she comes,

dressed all in white,

upon the field,

where we men fight.


She holds no judgment,

towards what we've done,

she's only there,

to help her son.


I lay in the trench,

with my body torn apart,

the blood that seeps,

weakens the heart.


The rippling gown of white,

Flutters in the wind,

Takes my pain away,

As I await my fate.


Forgiveness in her smile,

Sanctuary in her eyes,

Her auburn hair becomes the sky,

Purity stands in hell.


The wind that passes my ear,

Holds the voice of history,

She speaks silently,

As though to be heard.


"The embattlement of mankind.,

is in the head of madness,

played out in the field,

of death and despair.

As the dying light of twilight,

seems to lose to darkness,

the rising sun conquers,

the battle of another day.

The child that waits to rule the world,

will pick up the torch of the fallen father,

carrying it one step further,

towards the evening light.

This has been the way,

Since man has stepped forward"


The blood that seeps,

back to the Earth,

no longer flows,

for death has grasped my flesh.


Yet I still remain of this world,

As the lady in white take me by the hand,

I rise above the em-battlement,

Over the fields of death.


Peace enriches the soul,

Of the fallen father,

For as we touch the twilight skies,

We've won the battle of this day.


For the actions of a man,

shall determine the depth his peace.




The Old Man Sits


The old man sat next to the young boy who was sitting on a rock beside the creek. The young boy had been sitting there for some time alone pondering his thoughts. He liked to sit there in the silence of the forest which wasn't really silent. It was just away from the noise of people and the sounds of a small but rapidly growing town. Here in the woods the sounds of nature brought peace and serenity. He didn't know the old man that sat next to him. The old man just kind of appeared out of the forest. He didn't say anything to the old man as he approached and sat down. He just sat there looking at the flowing water of the creek. It trickled over some stones making a continuous rhythmic soothing sound.


"I'm tired", the old man finally spoke.

He was starring at the same stones in the creek as the young boy.

"I've come a long way to be here", the old man continued, "and now I can finally rest".


The old man sat there quiet.

The young boy sat there a moment then asked the old man, "Where will you go next?"

The old man bent over and scooped up some soil.


"I made this earth", he said. "I made it rich in substance and with endless possibilities. I created man and woman to tend to its' richness yet somewhere along time they both lost themselves and as a result this soil has lost all of its' potential".

The old man tossed the soil to the side as if it held no value. He sighed with disappointment.

"I've tried to tell them", he said, "I tried to tell them that they were straying from purpose. I sent notice but it fell on deaf ears. I sent visions but it was seen through distorted eyes. For everything that is taken something must be given. My children act as thought they forgot the most important lesson in life".


The old man picked up a stick from the ground. He twirled it around in his fingers contemplating his thoughts. "Sometimes its' for the better to discard a creation. To cease its' existence. Its' for the greater good of all", he said aloud.

The young boy that sat in silence next to the old man for a while. After a moment he finally spoke.

"Is it not in your own creation that you are dejected? If you cease that creation are you not, in essence ceasing to exist yourself? Failure isn't in the final result. It is in the process".

The young boy scooped up some soil and held it open in his hand.

"This soil my be depleted in substance but it hold potential. There is room for growth". The young boy stood up and tossed the soil into the stream of water. He then turned towards the old man who was now looking at him. The young boy spoke, "That depleted soil will be taken away by the water only to become bedrock somewhere downstream. Potential isn't what you now see but what will become later".

The young boy walked away into the forest leaving the old man sitting on the stone contemplating his thoughts.





Into A Desert (poem)


When the sun finally rose upon the lands,

I felt empty,

The flowers of the morning rise held nothing for me,

And being so there was nothing left to do,

Except walk into the vastness of a desert.


So typically symbolic of me,

I carried the burden of loss,

Into nothing,

Nothing of nothing,

Nothing for nothing,

Expecting nothing,

Recieving nothing.


Who shall see my lone shadow?

Just a figment of your imagination,


Perhaps not,

But what does it really matter now?

To me?


To you?



Despair breeds loneliness,

And together we shall be wedded.

© Copyright 2020 Rhymis. All rights reserved.

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