A Place Far From the Sky

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

A suicidal young man, builds a boat to escape an abusive father, in hopes of fulfilling his dreams of finding adventure in a land far away above the sky.

Written in the style of Jo-Flower. Perhaps exploring a younger version of the character.

Photo (c) Pexels

Some called him Serenade, others called him Billy-Boy,

but he did not play with building blocks, he did not have a toy—

his muse was fire, blazing ire, like the sword of some tin soldier—

in his heart the rage was fury, scented ash that turned cold smolder.

“Dream on sweet Billy-Boy, dream on, lost one,” was the beating of that drum

that burned his mind in the twilight like some haunting harp twice strummed.

A fistful of knuckles in the lip: bite back the blood, do not let it drip.

Let the snake sketch the scars on your back, do not flinch at the whip.

Words that bite with a wolfing sting when he strikes a blow to your cheek.

 Do not break the silence with your cries; he must not know that you are weak.

So, you have a broken spirit? He places one glistening cannon to his brains,

Pull back the trigger, boy, and break these rattling chains.

He dropped the gun like flashing lightening, from the corner stood a range

that reached beyond the pale-blue sky, that wound about a field so strange.

Falling backward into sweet grass, from the mirror of his frames,

a place far from the sky appeared like a puddle from childish games.

I want to go there, so much so, it pains the heartstrings of my soul

and haunts my dreams by night and day; yet, I remain down in this hole.

Build a boat and float away! He dare not follow you to the unknown helm

far from the sky where ships can fly, and forests guard the haunted elm.

Where honeyed lips from one true love await untouched and ripe.

Where wedding bowers, covered by flowers, hide the love of your sweet bride.

And when sweet Billy closed his eyes, he felt her kiss against his lips;

his heart it burned with longing so, innocence excited, quivering fingertips.

One dream was shattered once: now two, now three, and roaring four.

The ruthless face of his gloating father, fist raised above the lovers, screaming swore,

“rubbish, fool and foolish more, you dreaming mute, you useless boy—

a coward and a shame to me: I swear this life you shan’t enjoy!”

But Billy-Boy was strong and wise, he chased that man with gust and guise

until his brains were rattled wide at how his ship he could devise.

And built he that boat, he did indeed, he worked his hands until they bled.

So are the dreams of seers made: the hope of tomorrow and rest for the dead.

It floated wide between the sky, it curled around the setting sun,

and bore that boy far away from the sounds and towns of anyone.

“Here is my land so far away. Here is my home ‘tis soon to be.

No need for steel, no need for lead, no need for bullet-blown debris.”

He sailed some north, then west, then east, and everything far and between

until at last he reached that place where passion, delicious and serene

awaited yearning heart and body, wracked with scars of war and hate

longed for the gentle touch of love to heal the broken skin which fate

had ripped apart with a rapier sharpened on the souls of dying dreams.

But Billy-Boy had found his home and love would mend the splitting seams

that wound together heart and soul in this place far from the sky

where chambers warm and secret sweet untie the eyes and satisfy

the gaping hole inside: sleep now sweet Billy, there is no war to cry.


Submitted: July 02, 2021

© Copyright 2021 L.E. Belle. All rights reserved.

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