Under A Kind Willow Tree

Hugs and Kisses, Kisses and Hugs,

A far away wintertime Sunday afternoon,

Underneath typeset ink,

A faint snore, from a gray haired,

Grownup ... little boy,

As his sanity unwinds along a red leather couch,

Curled over his sock feet,

His protective Golden Retriever sleeps,

Warmth from the hearth blazes,

As his childhood memories,

Crackle, Spark, Pop,

And dark, fragile memory shards,

Float, Fly, Hang-glide, 

From within his minds eye,

A sunshine waterfall of frothy golden beams,  

Cascade, Pierce through his souls black windows,

A pattern trapped within a Kaleidoscope of reflections,

To illuminate a broken heart prison,

To entrance him - 

TO DARE HIM,

To sleep ... To dream ... To be a little boy again,

To when he was, 

Innocent, Perfect and Pristine,

              

And the little boy emerges,

From behind the foamy mists of his perceptions,

To face humiliation ... To face sorrow ... To face shame,

          

Ragged his blue jeans skinned at the knees,

Barefoot, clutching a wooden fishing pole,

Dangling, dirty, a lonely pale spirit,

Over the cool running water,

Of his shallow life stream, 

As he fishes his mind,

The newspaper pup tent disappears,

A fresh cotton blanket hugs him,

An understanding hand brushes back his hair,

A kiss on the forehead, unconditional love,

"Love always," whispered from Heaven above,

Problems, 

A mans work, 

Written nomenclature gobbledygook,

Vaporize, 

As he drifts ... he helplessly drifts,

Within the tempest current of dark matter, 

On his homemade raft ... lashed together, 

With scenes of his childhood disaster,

And the barefoot little boy’s bare feet splash,

Into his existence creek, stocked with,

Pebbles, Goldfish and Water Dogs,

Balanced with stones and rocks,

Smoothed over by the wisdom,

Earned from tragic experience,

The little boy patiently fishes,

His remembrance depths, 

he hooks, 

On his invisible Moirae thread,

A transcendental Goldfish,

Curious why, 

The Pisces welcomes his catch,

The little boy giggles with joy, 

Pink skin, 

Tender as cotton, 

Smooth as Chinese silk,

Safe, 

Clean, 

Without the cloak of regret,

He lives here ... He fishes here,

Inside this slumbering head,

But, Sadness slithers from sallow depths,

The forked tongue serpent,

Dagger bites his flesh,

Within his hands, the fish turns necrotic - Amethyst Black,

He drops his nightmare, 

Awake in his dream,

He screams ... He tosses ... He twists,

Enraged, Naked, Raped of his dignity,

Dead, Toxic see food,

Molted scales pollute his reality past,

Degradation, 

A little boy seduced,

Pulverized innocence, Evil tricks,

The little boy’s heart frozen in time,

His burnt skin, 

Forever glazed with an acid fire,

A little boy’s silent scream,

Behind the eyes of him,

So he forges his bare body, 

Back across the celestial stream,

Diving through liquid time, 

To where the little boy hides,

He camps here ... Isolated - Alone, 

"Please leave me alone!" He begs,     

                  

Under the canopy shade of a kind Willow tree,

Where he can,

Laugh ... Play - Be - As a little boy should be,

But, hold fast my little forever frozen friend,

For gentle is God's breath whispers,

To glide, twist, sooth, seek,

Through the Willow forests leaves and branches,

The pure white cloud enraptures the little boy, 

And the kind Willow trees ... all accept the little boy,

And the kind Willow trees ... all protect the little boy,

From the Black Raven clouds of cruel fate,

He kneels at the muddy bank,

His translucent tears, His lost innocence, 

Flood the shallow depths of his life stream, 

As plentiful Koi, feast to nibble away his pain,

A green leaf limb brushes back his reflection,

To wash, to cleanse ... this childhood victim, 

And near the kind Willows tree trunk, 

For the little boy to sleep,

A safe, soft, Daisy, Sunflower, Lotus peddle bed,

He begs,

The kind Willow tree, 

For mercy, For peace, For forgiveness,

He whispers, "Please stop the nightmarish images ..."

And under a Sanguine Moon,

Safe from the shadows of childhood death,

The quiet ... grownup ... gray haired little boy, 

Camped all through the night,

Near the hearths cooling embers,

With dreams of magic,

Of fire flies, Of roasted marshmallows,

Of flying fish, Of pirate ships,

And of adventures yet to be,

Hidden within the protective canopy,

Of the kind Willow, tree forest,

And as the grownup little boy slept,

                      The kind Willow trees wept.