Dreaming Duncan Monroe

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a story of someone who is mostly unknown.

Submitted: December 27, 2019

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Submitted: December 27, 2019

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He walks daily the same ten blocks. The familiar course of corners and crosswalks controlled by commanding green and red. Not counting his steps or how he should go, every foot fall taken follows without thought. Coming to curbs he must step down or up, and all along the way he never stops.

Moving in a hurry, life is a flurry of snow in Summer and Duncan is never of an attitude in caution. The yellow light found on every street remains forever unseen; the cowardly color not met by either mice or men.

His directions destination is always the park. That place where pigeons sing as larks and here he is certain that the ten trees he has counted there do talk, but only to him.

It is a rather small and brown patchy some what grassy space; to Duncan it is so much finer. It is a forest of wonder compared to the concrete sweltering and mirage inspiring asphalt, that which he seeks to leave and vacate.

It is there that the bench he sits upon goes aging along with him as a cool, constant, familiar companion. Since Duncan hadn't wasted his life to judge he never saw the cracks of change. He didn't set out to understand any of before or now or what tomorrow might be. His thoughts of freshly forged iron and new paint, even the scent, all of it he felt within his heart to keep.

There in his minds eye was a container of himself, as a holder of his youth, that which is going in every moment. Daily as he leaves his tiny apartment half a mile away from where he must be, the blurred passersby watch him briefly in their fleeting seconds. To them in that instant his steps are that of a faultering old man who is tottering. Deciding from a less than empathetic and realistic perception that Duncan is gone. 

But dispite that opinion he moves forward in a flowing state of acceleration, his constant smile as he dreams this life forever one of motion. Never meeting what is decided by others he refuses to acknowledge what might deter. For that wall like something could break his calm and steady stride met again as he wakes, known as truth within his mind it stays. For this reason as well he keeps going, never looking left or right,

His park day done he returns to his temporary shelter at suns setting. As he walks again he takes home with him the fond, familiar whisper of trees, his smiling face meeting the last of the days breeze, knowing these very things will lull him into peace filled sleep.


© Copyright 2020 LE. Berry. All rights reserved.

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