6:00 a.m. — Awakened to a brand new day with no idea in mind, the poet found himself in bed in the sorry state of disgust. His selfish muse, the creator of novel notions, had kept her jewels to herself overnight once again. Wishing he could do without her, but lacking the required skills, his frustration arose with the sun. A sense of loathing for the fickle fairy of creativity had enclosed him like a blanket. In bed he stayed, in spite of the tasks the day had set before him.
*
In the beginning — a story was born,
and the child — became — another mouth to feed.
His lot — his place – in life — was set,
whether he consciously made the choice — or not.
As he grew — his physical weight — forever fluctuating,
however slight,
was the Earth’s burden to bear — the burden,
a gravitational equation.
Born with a will – an innate trait — he survived many a power play,
manipulating others with clever maneuvers — win, lose or draw.
His works – not original — but hand-me-downs — reproduced
for the sake of posterity — giving him — a sense of self-worth.
Aware — was he — of a certain personal freedom ,
ambiguously prescribed,
daring him to express it — in action — in thought — in private
conversations with himself — and his God.
The curtain rises. The year is 1025 B.C. The scene takes place mid-morning in a barren narrow valley. On your right, a dry riverbed runs off to the horizon.
Up on the bank to your left, stands a bearded burly giant. He is 40 years old and 9 feet tall. In his right hand, he holds a 7 ft. long spear upright. Hanging from his belt and in its sheath, is a sword, 5 ft. in length. His shield lies on the ground beside him. He wears no armor. Entering from the right, is a shepherd boy of 15 years. He has a fish net in his right hand, and a smallish knife hangs on his belt. He wears a loose-fitting tunic with a pocket on the side. Hanging out of this pocket, we see part of a leather strap. The boy, eying the giant all the way, walks across the riverbed to the edge of the bank, and there he stops.
Artwork by Aaron Pocock
*
Well, well! Good heavens! You are here!
Hello again, Amanita!
It’s wonderful to see you once more after so long a time!
You haven’t changed a bit, little one. How many years has it been?
~ What’s that you say? ~ Oh, my! That many years, eh?
How quickly they have passed. That makes me feel old, dear friend.
~ Why, thank you! You are too kind. Your gracious presence alone
brings back the vigor of my youth. ~ Yes, I’ve missed you, Amanita.
It was just the other day when the thought of you came to mind,
and then I saw you in my dream last night, so I came here on a hunch.
*
Innocence is lost — not when taught
You’re born a sinner!
That it’s a fact and you shouldn’t act
like that to be a winner
