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I was wandering in a war-field when it happened,

Bleary eyed and alone, stumbling over debris,

Curious as to why the canons of my ramparts ceased.

The once lush green landscape I cherished, now blackened;

deep gashes and fallen oaks lay in splintered heaps.

Yet in spite of all that remained in utter disrepair,

all that seemed disastrous and rife with despair,

A reincarnation of Athena arose from afar

ascending a hill to the East like a phoenix

Rising unscathed from the ashes around her.

Her hair caught in the breeze and streamed

like dark chestnut flames setting the air on fire;

each tendril struck the ether like flint upon stone.

And the deep brown in her almond eyes alighted

Like twin beacons of hope to the lost and the stranded;

They drew me in without effort, I found it futile to resist.

______

At first it was blinding, her inimitable light,

the ethereal gleam cast by the setting sun

Reflected like Archimedes’ fire from her armor,

A burnished silver suit with ornate engravings

flowing like intricate streams of gold from head to toe,

Forcing my eyes to adjust to her otherworldly glow.

______

She rode atop a white stallion with a red bridle,

Studded with sapphire stones and polished silver rivets,

its silken mane flowed like the finest threads

Spun by the nimblest hands of Olympia’s best.

The rider then surveyed the ashen wastes strewn

About her by the gnarled hands of the misled,

yet she showed no sign of reluctance, no urge to flee

instead, she called across the field, beckoning

With an outstretched hand, and a beaming smile.

______

Swiftly it shattered my inhibitions, that simple flash of teeth.

And as I grew closer, a warmth began to bloom within my chest,

At first like a candle trying to illuminate a vast and empty room,

slowly growing into a vibrant torch alighting every corner.

I felt my body relax as I was pulled closer toward the hill,

Enveloped in a tender warmth this body had never know before.

My eyes grew heavy and before I arrived, they had all but closed

allowing myself to fall under her spell, with her hand now upon my head,

and a whisper in my ear that “destruction never revives the dead;

hear me now, you cannot let the dark times rule your kingdom

For the sun does not shine on a mind with closed doors.

Let the light filter through, tear down those towering walls

And allow your soul to live free of such poisonous pride.”

______

 When her hand raised slowly from my head, my eyes opened;

the world had regained its color, the ancient oaks now stood tall

The upturned earth now settled into grassy plains,

And the songbirds were filling the air with their avian twang.

The divots and the shrapnel embedded in my walls disappeared.

And though the rider had vanished, her influence remained.

Once there was a man named Steve (⌐ ͡■ ͜ʖ ͡■) and Steve didn’t know what to do with himself           ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He knew he needed [̲̅$̲̅(̲̅5̲̅0)̲̅$̲̅] to live, yet he could even barely build an Ikea shelf.         ლ(ಥ Д ಥ )ლ But one fine day as he was walking by the Gym ᕕ( ⁰ ▽ ⁰ )ᕗ he heard a pleasant melody that awakened something within him ♪♬༼ ⨀ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿⨀ ̿༽ He followed the alluring sound until he reached double doors, and there he stayed ┬┴┬┴┤(・_├┬┴┬┴ for with his lack of skill, he was afraid they’d call him terrible names (⊹◕ʖ̯◕) But before Steve knew what was happening, the music took hold and to the beat, his foot began tapping. At first he moved stiffly, his gyrations lacked confidence ┌( ಠ_ಠ)┘But soon he learned well, and he was beginning to dance! ~(˘▾˘~) (~˘▾˘)~ Before he knew it, Steve was moving like a pro, ┌(▀Ĺ̯ ▀-͠ )┐ grooving and jiving like he was born for it from the get-go. ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ  Steve finally felt proud, his faith had been renewed. And that’s when Steve had a brilliant idea, he would start up his very own dance crew! ( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°) They practiced and practiced, and soon they were put to the test, against the best the city had to offer, and Steve told them “No less”. For Steve was not scared, he was ready for anything (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง and he went bravely into the competition where the crowd’s cheers were deafening! His team danced like they deserved the win, and the judges agreed ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ *Ten points!* But the opposing team got angry, filled with hate and greed (っ-̶●̃益●̶̃)っ୧( ಠ Д ಠ )୨ ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)        ┌( ◕ 益 ◕ )ᓄ But the judges weren’t having it, they sent them on their way. Though not before those greedy baztards flipped the judges table out of the way (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻ But Steve was not perturbed, if anything he was triumphant \ (•◡•) / And from that day on, Steve had it planned. He would forever be a dancer, and as a dancer, he would be grand ᕕ(⌐■_■)ᕗ ♪♬

Emoticons courtesy of dongerlist.com and their MANY emoticon options

This is in no way meant to be grammatically correct. This is just me having fun with text.

I woke up today in the green fields of May, with you lying close to my face. As I ventured into your eyes something had closed behind them. You admit you’re shattered inside, that somehow there is no more light to be shown through your eyes.

“The sun never shines on closed doors” they say. Let me in and tell me of your sins, let the gentile blade of your finger cut along the stubble of my face, and I’ll show you I am no longer afraid of whatever may hide within. Let my rough hands be cleansed by the smooth silk of your armor and open your doors once more.

You brushed my hand away with a smile on your face, and I knew you couldn’t be opened so easily. We end with a sigh as we stare at the sky in these green fields of may, yet the sun never shines on closed doors.

 

Author’s note: This passage was inspired by Flogging Molly’s “The Son Never Shines on Closed Doors”. A beautiful song, speaking of the doors we close and the importance of keeping them open to the world. 

Every part of your body resembles something of the Shoreline Sunrise; your hair is the soft white sand gleaming in the rays of the newly awoken sun. Your eyes are the warm solar radiance as it rises above the frigid air of night. Your skin, as gentile as the soft blue sky that awaits. Your lips, curl like the waves setting on the ocean shore. And the glorious sound of waves colliding brings me back to the day we first kissed in such a heavenly setting. And as our waves collide, they create a mist where the sun reflects its majesty in a rainbow nearly as beautiful as the woman who stands before me.

Eventually, everything settles as the sun sets behind a purple horizon. The sand turns dull once more, the sky turns black, your eyes will close, but you are still in my arms, your breast rising and falling with the ebb and flow of the tide.  That is how I know the sun will rise again in our paradise. It is how I know the sand will be warm and soft once more, and the waves will awaken as you rise from your slumber and we embrace as lovers do.

Though, this will have to wait, for now I am awed at your beauty in your subtle slumber. Goodnight my love, goodnight, for soon our lips will reunite. We will awaken the sun and release its ethereal starlight.

It’s early Fall, a morning streaked with overcast clouds and a slight fog just burning off into atomic form. It’s a calm morning, no wind to speak of, no whisper of wisdom to give a sign of anything to come; my favorite. It let me think freely with my head on the passenger window peering into an apparent Mobius strip; everything the same as it was before. The same action seekers soaring down the lane on their fixies, same freshie’s starting high school over-dressed, same jocks pushing around the unfortunate few (happy it wasn’t me), same stoners with the same spaced out expressions, same shit different day; I just hope something will happen. Some change of color, or brightness or transparency… whatever; a break in the strip. A change in my life, I need. What it is I’m looking for? I haven’t a clue.

Then I heard my dad shout something from the driver’s seat. His name is Bill. The guy’s got a hair trigger.

Whoa! How is she not freezing?! Look at those shorts. Daisy dukes in October? Uh-uh.” He sighed, shaking his head like any disapproving parent. “Kids these days.”

Wait, who?…” I said, intrigued.

I glanced to my left where he was pointing. I saw her walking across the street towards the school; beige shorts (Not actual Daisy Duke length. Not even jean material. I questioned Bill’s knowledge of The Duke Family), a white blouse underneath a navy blue pea-coat , fair skin, and a gorgeous shade of wavy brown locks slinking past her shoulders. The pure sight of this specter would make even Aphrodite stare in awe.

She carried herself effortlessly. Unlike all of the dreary faces around us, bitten by the cold, tired from a homework load they still aren’t quite accustomed to; she stood tall, unafraid of what High School meant to most teens; a veritable prison. I tell you, she could have fallen down from heaven for all I know. It raised the question; are angels real? Then of course YOU may be asking other questions like… “Is this guy insane?” “Is he on medication?”

Answer to both; technically I’m not insane, but my shrink likes to keep the visits weekly, and my medication on a strict schedule. It’s a long story, for another time.

I thought about the time I’ve spent in Sunday School learning about Heaven, Hell and the power of prayer. Those countless hours learning biblical mantras and eating Styrofoam wafers may have finally paid off. Maybe prayers do get answered once in a while. Or maybe I’ve just been shown the epitome of the female body, only to never see it again. I can’t even fathom the cruelty of that. 

Apparently I was staring away slack-jawed because Bill was trying to get my attention…

Hey, hey. earth to Gerry, come in Gerry” he snapped his fingers in front of me. My daydream interrupted.

Um… yeah, weird. Never saw her before.” Smooth Gerry, real smooth. Bill grinned but kept driving.

My eyes traced her path. I really had no idea who she was but she couldn’t be a ghost; we both saw her and she didn’t appear to be floating in mid-air. Is God trying to tell me something? Is she some holy messenger here to lift my cursed love-life? If so, some instructions would be mighty helpful big guy! I looked to the sky.

No answer; what a damn surprise.

My dad pulled into the parking lot as the girl was walking toward the administrative office and she looked my way; we met eyes for a moment. She smiled, I felt weird. I think I smiled back. I can’t be sure. My facial movements were foreign to me in that space of time. I wanted to be sick, but at the same time I wanted to dance and sing and write mushy poetry for her.

I cowered down into my seat, lowering myself out of view; a much less frightening alternative. It was all too much; how is a teen supposed to deal with emotions he’s never felt before?! C’mon now. And are these emotions real? Or is my pecker just pinging in her direction? Bill considered this type of affection as a gateway to unplanned pregnancies and an angry baby’s mama when the papa can’t afford child-support.

Anyway, I digress.

I felt like a fool though. That is the opposite of what I need: Someone else to think I’m lame.

I took a quick peek, to see if I was in the clear. The office door was closing. I saw her figure disappear behind frosted glass; her silhouette swaying back and forth, back and forth… a lure reeling my manhood in like some weak guppy. My dreams slammed into the door as it swung shut; falling into pieces like Humpty Dumpty but with no King’s horses OR men to reassemble the mess.

Who could she be?” I mumbled to myself; louder than intended. Only now remembering where I was. Bill’s grin had widened from ear-to-ear.

Well little man, it looks like you’ll have all day to find out. Now, get out of my car and learn something useful. Women don’t appreciate a dumbass. Just ask your mother, I’ve been trying to get her to appreciate me for fifteen years.”

Yeah, thanks pops. I’ll see you later. Good luck with Mom.” I gave my eyes a nice roll. Appropriate sarcasm requires appropriate sarcastic gestures: It’s just a fact of life.

Hey now! Don’t get sore on me. I say that with love little man. Just tryin’ to wake y’up”

He smiled one of his ‘lighten up little-man’ smiles. I tried to copy and paste the expression. I probably just looked sick.

I got out of the car and glanced around like a frightened Prairie Dog just in case the specter-girl materialized behind me. She already came out of left-field once.

I was in the clear.

My dad tooted the horn as he drove his puke green (he claims it’s British racing green) ’78 Mini out of the parking lot. It drew a few snickering faces my way, a greeting almost: welcome back to high school Gerry, only three years left.

I walked on… 

It’s early Fall, a morning streaked with overcast clouds and a slight fog just burning off into atomic form, a calm morning; no wind to speak of, no whisper of wisdom to give a sign of anything to come. I always liked these mornings best. They let me think freely with my head on the passenger window peering into an apparent Mobius strip; everything the same as it was the day before. Same action seekers soaring down the lane on their fixies, same freshie’s starting high school over-dressed, same jocks pushing around the unfortunate few (happy it wasn’t me), same stoners with the same spaced out expressions, same shit different day; I just hope something will happen. Some change of color, or brightness or transparency, whatever; a break in the strip. A change in my life, I sought. What it is I am looking for, I haven’t a clue.

Then I heard my dad, Bill, shout something from the driver’s seat. The guy’s got a hair trigger.

Whoa! How is she not freezing?! Look at those shorts. Daisy dukes in October? Uh-uh.” He sighed, shaking his head like any disapproving parent. “Kids these days.”

Wait who?…” I said, intrigued.

I glanced to my left where he was pointing. I saw her walking across the street towards the school; beige shorts (Not actual Daisy Duke length. Not even jean material. I questioned Bill’s knowledge of The Duke Family), a white blouse underneath a navy blue pea-coat , fair skin, and a gorgeous shade of wavy brown locks slinking past her shoulders.

She carried herself effortlessly. Unlike all of the dreary faces around us, bitten by the cold, tired from a homework load they still aren’t quite accustomed to; she stood tall, unafraid. I tell you, she could have fallen down from heaven for all I know. Are teenage angels common? Heh, better to leave that one alone I think.

For whatever reason I thought about the time I’ve spent in Sunday School learning about Heaven, Hell and the power of prayer. Those countless hours learning biblical mantras and eating Styrofoam wafers may have finally paid off. Maybe prayers do get answered once in a while.

Apparently I was staring away slack-jawed because my dad was trying to get my attention…

Hey, hey. earth to Gerry, come in Gerry” he snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. My daydream interrupted.

Um… yeah, weird. Never saw her before.” Smooth Gerry, real smooth. Bill grinned.

My eyes traced her path. I really had no idea who she was but she couldn’t be a ghost; we both saw her. Is her presence a sign? Are angels usually visible to humans? Is God trying to tell me something? If so, some instructions would be mighty helpful big guy!

My dad pulled into the parking lot as she was walking toward the administrative office and she looked my way; we met eyes for a moment. She smiled, I felt weird. I think I smiled back, I can’t be sure. My facial movements were foreign to me in that space of time. I wanted to be sick, but at the same time I wanted to dance and sing and write mushy poetry for her.

I cowered down into my seat, lowering myself out of view; better choice. It was too much; how is a teen supposed to deal with emotions he’s never felt before?! C’mon now.

I felt like a fool though. I hope she didn’t get a good look at me. I bet I looked like one bowing out like that. The opposite of what I need: Someone else to think I’m a freak. I took a quick peek, to see if I was in the clear. The office door was closing. I saw her figure disappear behind frosted glass; her silhouette swaying back and forth, back and forth….

Who could she be?” I mumbled to myself; louder than intended. Only now remembering where I was. Bill had a smile from ear-to-ear.

Well little man, it looks like you’ll have all day to find out. Now, get out of my car and learn something useful. Women don’t appreciate a dumbass. Just ask your mother, I’ve been trying to get her to appreciate me for fifteen years.”

Yeah, thanks pops. I’ll see you later. Good luck with Mom.” I gave my eyes a nice roll. Appropriate sarcasm requires appropriate sarcastic gestures: It’s just a fact of life.

Hey now! Don’t get sore on me. I say that with love little man. Just tryin’ to wake you up”

He smiled one of his ‘lighten up little-man’ smiles. I tried to copy and paste the expression. I probably just looked ill.

I got out of the car and glanced around like a frightened Prairie Dog just in case the specter-girl materialized behind me. She already came out of left-field once. In the clear ole’ boy.

My dad tooted the horn as he drove his puke green (he claims it’s British racing green) ’78 VW bug out of the parking lot. It drew a few snickering faces my way, a greeting almost: welcome back to high school Gerry, only three years left.

I walked on…

Reunited, the doc and I, and no, it doesn’t feel very good at all.

She asked for my name, date of birth; where I thought I was, and why I thought I was there. She was making sure their method of sedation hadn’t loosened any screws already hanging by a thread.

“Excuse me doc, you start off with that? Not even a, ‘How are you sport? It’s been a while. I hope your head feels better soon. How about a tissue to wipe the shit from your eyes?’ ”

I put an emphasis on “Shit”. She detests vulgarities. At least, that was my theory (patients too can have their own theories about the white-coats doing the majority of probing) I just looked for the tick in her face. Just in case it got to her.

She looked at me with wide eyes, giant emerald gems they were, though they looked worried. Then she glanced down at her sleek, polished desk-phone. As if she were deciding whether or not to call in security.

“Did she have security now?” I thought.

Her earlier jovial manner dropped dead. Very clinical. There’s that word again; clinical. Gives me the shakes.

“I’m sorry Francis, I should have been more…”

Queue lengthy pause. “Clinical” perhaps?

“…accommodating. You weren’t exactly taken in under the best of circumstances this time around. Do you remember anything?”

I, a little upset with the wording, fired back.

Last time, this happened in a cozy duplex where I came in semi-willingly. On this occasion, for all I know, some brute dosed me and dragged me in here like an animal.”

“Now Franc…”

“What the hell happened doc? And why exactly am I waking up in front of you covered in what looks like dirt and… is this dog crap? Is this standard procedure?!

I began breathing heavily. I could have handled that… differently.

She was uneasy, I could tell; apprehensive to continue. Her brow furrowed like a concerned parent after learning a beloved child just committed their first petty crime. I didn’t know what I had done to justify special-delivery to her new office, or someone’s office. But it had to be a doozy.
She started to explain the details… They were pretty grim.

“Okay, Francis, fair enough. We brought you here, please, allow me to explain why.”

“Your mom called 911 when you were unresponsive during a phone-call. She said you were frantic, screaming about your dog’s death. And the line went dead.”

She looked at me in a way she never had before: genuine concern, truly worried with what came next. Possibly disturbed even, though I remain the only clinically disturbed person at present. She continued.

“The paramedics found you in your back yard, digging a hole several feet deep. You put your dog next to it; and you, in the trench digging “with purpose” is how they described you. When the crew attempted to get you out after refusing a verbal request, you became cross. You wouldn’t let anyone near the dog or the hole. They told me you were swinging away with the shovel gripped like a baseball bat in your hands. You exclaimed, you insisted on having a proper burial for your dog. All the while taking swings at anyone whom came within arm’s reach. Realizing they may have had a mentally ill person at hand…”

I’m not sure what was broiling inside of me at the time, but it was getting worse.

“Excuse me, again, but, ‘Mentally-ill’ is the best you can come up with? I know I’m fucked, Sam. I woke up imprisoned.”

“You are not in prison, Francis, we are in a Psychiatric Ward….”

Suspicions confirmed.

“…And you are sitting in my new recliner. Don’t you like it?”

I nodded in agreement. It was actually nice. She cleared her throat and continued.

“Now, as I was saying, the paramedics realized they had a sensitive case on their hands…”

I smiled.

“… As fate would have it, by this time your mother had arrived and immediately suggested that I be contacted. Twenty minutes after I got the call I arrived with my new team. Full disclosure: we had to subdue you in a safe manner, Francis. For both you and my team. That meant my new colleague, Dr. Lark, and I had to order and administer a tranquilizer”

“Dr. Lark, the Chief Psychiatrist here offered me a position working along-side her. She was also responsible for your safe transport to this facility”

Safe, safe, safe. All they were worried about was me not croaking so they had something to poke at and still get paid.

As if she had been standing stage-left all this time, just waiting for her cue, Dr. Lark barged in and leaned against the desk next to Dr. Stuttgart, they smiled at each other genially, almost flirtatiously, then Dr. Lark’s focus darted towards me; studying the limp dud in the recliner. The two seemed a tad chummy for colleagues. But lark looked familiar. As if I’d seen her picture somewhere.

“Good evening Francis, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

She wore a knit green sweater on this day. Fair-skin, thin-rimmed specs sitting low on the tip of a slender nose. Tiny diamond ear-rings –though ethereal luminescent grains of sand they were –straight, brown hair leveling off at the mahogany desk she sat behind. One of those hand-made beauties with intricate handy-work carved into the trim. The desk was new. That much I had known.

She was trying to ask me something but I was still having trouble hearing her over the ringing in my ears so…

I knew where I was though. It was a typical shrink’s office, clearly not the doctor’s old duplex in Pasadena; house-wife in one partition, shrink in the other.

The setup was similar; calming, creamy, off-white coat of paint on the walls, warm low-lit room, a flower pot on a shelf; with the first tendril of a Violet-to-be, a plush la-z-boy recliner in which my comfortable bum sat, and the sensation my brain was being incubated gently by the warmth of the room to more easily extract breakthroughs.

That’s what the doc gets paid for anyway:  Making the patient feel comfortable while they chip away at mankind bit by bit. Still something seemed off when I sat there. This new place was more… clinical.

Then reality hit me, I was in a Ward. Shadows laced the frosted glass door in a quick step as orderlies, patients and the illustrious masters of dysfunction, the doctors, waltzed by, going through their daily routine; saving minds one poor sack at a time. My thoughts went bonkers.

“God only knows what I’m in for. Electroshock therapy?  Behavioral conditioning? A lobotomy! Do they still do those?…”  on and on and on.

Irrational questions were flooding my mind. All my life I feared Psychiatric Wards; with their mental probing, sedation, trick questions and a questionable promise to uphold your deepest, darkest secrets as “Confidential” The latter part encompasses Shrink’s in general. My past time with Dr. Stuttgart had helped ease the fear a bit. But you pay them exorbitant amounts of money to feed you pills and talk about life. I could have done that in a back-alley of Compton. But she was nice; or knew how to act it very well.

“At least”

I tried to convince myself.

“There’s a familiar face in view.”

Right.

I woke up feeling terrible, filthy, a little crusty around the mouth; fear crept into my skull as I laid nearly paralyzed on a recliner. An aroma hung thick in the air; of earth, sweat, dog crap, and a hint of Lilac. The former three were from me. Answers will come.

I had been out cold, indeed. Someone called my name as I was blinking the Sandman’s payload from my eyes.

“Francis? Come back to Earth, Francis.”

It was my therapist, Dr. Stuttgart; thank God. I didn’t know what to expect. A psych-ward, holding cell at the city jail, Heaven?

My mom hired Dr. Stuttgart shortly after my Grandma passed away. “just a precaution sweetie”. It was after hearing of my well-sauced performance at Sandy’s gig.

At the end of the party, already deflated and wet in the eyes from imagining my grandparents’ last day together; I thought about the last time I saw her smile. The last time I hugged her. The last time I could have paid a visit but instead I fucked around with my friends after school…

It broke me, I had a spell then, similar to what happened after Dino. But this had been more on the side of an alcoholic black-out, the party incident. No one thought much of it other than some drunken bastard who couldn’t hold his liquor.

Sandy didn’t know what to do. She tried though, I respect her for that. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to label myself “mentally unstable”. Only my parents took notice of my supposed new attitude and asked questions. That’s when I had to start seeing the doc.