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Open Poetry #7
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The Rain
| Open Poetry #7 |
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The Rain |
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H. Arlequin Member
since 1999-08-23
Posts 210 |
The Rain In rivulets the rain ran down the unmoving mask of the squatter, his back to the brunt of the storm, a drenched deerskin poncho...burnt brown saturated color, water soaked since yesterday's lukewarm sun had been swamped by the slate gray scudding from the west...tightly clenched hands snugging it for body heat, a backwoodsman's attempt to pay homage to life's comforts fate wrenched from this outcast defying defeat. He was cold, worse, vulnerable, the damp invading everything it touched, including the prime of the long rifle...venerable for generations that cling to fine weapons, which paradigm models sound judgment and long life... lying across his sodden thighs. Except for the occasional blink, no part of him moved, the knife hilt touching his palm. Darkened skies meant more to be endured, no drink to dull the chill of gelid dread, or purge the mind of horror's scenes... a wife, their child, a future dreamed, at brutal savage hands lay dead. Erased were the tracks of four fiends, ahead of one whose silence screamed for revenge's satisfaction. They were near, he sensed, the hard pelt having eased need for hurried flight, while watching back for reaction, their footprints the downpour would melt away, it falling through the night. When dark, soundlessly he had stepped in the game trail and moved forward, his plan to get in front of them, the rain washing clean where he'd crept past, to surprise them coming toward him who'd inflict final mayhem. He knew the palisades, the ledge traversed to get to the river, where if caught by an enemy, one died. Beyond, a limestone wedge had been sheared off, a lone sliver stood upright, behind which, unseen, one could view the narrow approach. They came before dawn through the rain. Four shadows inched across, between death and damnation, no reproach through speech except that sound again, and again...a paradigm spoke four times. Pain and the rain remained, that day, punishment for giving hope that justice lifts sorrow's yoke, that suffering might not be ingrained in the fabric of ones living. Fr. Veni di Morte . . . . . Poems From the Goober Tree http://nathoo.wustl.edu/goober_tree.htm |
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| © Copyright 2000 H. Arlequin - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Corinne Member Ascendant
since 1999-10-28
Posts 5167state of confusion |
wonderful tale! Corinne |
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doreen peri Member Elite
since 1999-05-25
Posts 3812Virginia |
*applause* a fine narrative, my friend... nice to see you again |
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Mike Member Elite
since 1999-06-19
Posts 2462 |
I await each of your postings anticipating your talents. You never fail to meet expectations. Wonderfully written. |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Absolute excellence!! |
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Nan
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-20
Posts 21191Cape Cod Massachusetts USA |
Always a pleasure, HA... You make it rain as none other can..  |
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
excellent |
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