"FREE AT LAST!"

O, the walls that we build; to keep out the perceived evil that threatens us with paper dragons and fanciful villains. Secure, we set inside our strong fortifications, impenetrable from without and indestructible from within. Sterilized in our own filth the iron vines of pride and self-love sprawl over us and the siege begins, there tethered to the ground, a captive within our own fortress and a slave to the tyrant we trained, who now at will opens the barred gates for demons, ten times more vile than he, to enter. Writhing in torment and fear we see the true fire breathing dragons and taste the bitter reality of evil. When dawns on our mind the reality that the only safety, was not a wall to shut out the ones around us, but an invite to bring in and care for them. But slaves we have become, we have shut out the ones who could have fought for us- what hope is left for such a one? Breath, breath but the faintest petition for help, cry out for saving and give full and free permission for the castle of your own making to be torn down by the Mighty One. He will speed to the fray and drive off the demons, vanquish the dragons and slash through the vines that hold you bound, He will carry you to safety and restore your soul, He will never leave you! You can be free at last!

A Tale of Two Men in the Rose Garden

Once upon a time there were two men walking through a garden, a beautiful rose garden. Roses of all colors and sizes spread themselves across the landscape, a breathtaking sight to say the least.

Both men young and full of life, some said they looked like two peas in a pod, happily talked, as they walked together, about the flower's each looked for. As they came round a small bend in the path both took a deep breath and a long look at the fragrant sight they stood before. It was the most lovely Roses in the entire garden, a bush of strong luster mixed with delicate blush, the buds were held high in dainty elegance. The red petals set against the green of the leaves with the evening sun giving a golden highlight was an enchanting sight that non would want to leave. The two young men advanced with all the handsome looks and charming wit they could muster. They walked round and round the rose bush until they were sure the lovely Rose buds they wanted had seen them, then each one picked his own flower. Carnal going first picked one of young beauty, even though twas all tightly closed. Caring went last and picked his Rose bud, one slightly more open but of pure beauty, never before picked by another. The two young men ambled off into the sunset, each with his beautiful Rose bud and each dreaming of a life “happily ever after”. As night was coming on both men parted ways, each to his own destiny.

Carnal was sure his Rose would be the envy of his whole town once she had opened up to full bloom. Midnight was almost there, the morning was coming but Carnal could wait no longer, his words had not made her open up into her full beauty and he was so anxious to show his “love” and receive the fulfillment that he wanted so badly that one by one he began to pry and pull on the delicate petals. Some of her petals broke and fell to the ground, others were crushed and bruised, large red drops of rose blood fell silently to the grass below. Carnal reasoned that this must be the way she was made; for always another new petal came from behind the others. At last he saw her heart, he had made it!!! And as he held her up in the light of his camp fire all his joy and pleasure turned to anger and frustration, for now he saw just a stem with thorns to hurt him and where beauty once had been no petals remained to give charm! He threw her down in disgust to the ground and left her there to die all alone only covered with the black of night. Carnal kicked up his heels as he strode off into the night saying “there is nothing to love it's all a farce!” But yet he still wants something he does not have and will look for another Rose he can tare apart.

Now, Caring had lovingly taken his Rose bud with him and put her in a vase so as not to let her wither and grow old. He could see that there was beauty deep inside, a reservoir of love just for him! She would be the queen of all Roses when she opened up wide in all her beauty. It was now past midnight, his camp fire had gone out, the cold of the morning hours threatened to freeze and mar the edges of her beauty with it's cold and cutting chill, then it was that in love and comfort for her beauty Caring drew her close to the warmth of his heart. Morning dawned fair and in it’s early light and warmth from the sun Caring’s Rose opened even wider revealing more of her hidden beauty and fragrance to the man she now loved and trusted.

As Caring walked on with his Rose next to his heart there came a rose-stand by the roadside. Roses of every size and of every color, it made him think of the lovely sight of the rose garden the day before but somehow it paled in contrast as if almost artificial. Now Carnal tended this roadside stand and called out to his old friend. “Come get something new, it's no fun to have an old Rose, trust me I know, the one I took in the garden yesterday made me' poor hands bleed bad with her thorns at midnight.” Caring held his now gorgeous Rose up high and said. “This is my love, this is my dove, we are one for life and my life would I give for her protection!” And with that Caring passed quickly by the rose stand with his sweetheart close so his heart!

Afternoon now found Caring's journey taking him through a desert, hot and harsh the sun beat down. Caring took his shirt off of his own back to give shade to his one and only, his bare back to the burning wind and blistering sun providing protection for the Rose of his dreams. Many a man had lost their way in this desert, many more had left there Roses helpless on the burning sand. But even though exhaustion wracked his body and blisters riddled his back Caring kept on going, for he would rather die than let harm come to his Rose. Aw, ‘twas her sweet fragrance wafting on the warm breeze that kept the life blood pumping through his veins as he toiled all afternoon across the desert. But every step a smile he wore for his Rose was safe in his arms, without her no doubt his bones would be bleaching in the sand!

Near evening the sound of a babbling brook, the smell of the lofty pine trees, the songs of the beards, and the scamper of the woodland animals welcomed there prince and princess! With the creek of the door Caring and his Rose were now home! In the glow of the fireplace, in their cozy cabin, he gazes into her beautiful face full of all the joy and love that only time can bring!

A fairy tale you say? Nae, but a reality that selfish hearts can know only when greed we lay aside and let love come inside.

My dear friend, time fails me to tell the tale of the Rose left for dead, but in the future I shall! And to all may the rose Gardener speed you on your way.

Not the story that could have been

Footprints, a nostalgic poem of the 20th century. My story takes a slightly more horrific turn or perhaps it is the sequel to Footprints In The Sand.

As darkness set its fearful blanket of cold night round me, memories of fonder days flickered in my mined like a light bulb at the end of it’s life. Only to be half the man I was away back in my youth, that would make me twice the man of now. I once had felt pain, I once had felt joy, I once had loved. But now an aching hole from my head to my tow, frightful, restless, hopeless. For now I only wished I could feel, at the least feel shame and at best feel pain, for to feel something at all would be a gift but to feel joy, that was never again to be. Once on a distant shore I had seen the footprints and I’d even been carried but now my shore had no sand, only jagged, sharp, and deadly rocks pocked at my near lifeless corpse. High and lifted up above the awful sight was a structure, strong and sound, never once it’s light did go out always bright it shown about. But for me no hope said light did bring.

They say hope springs eternal and so it was with me, from the light of that tower I could see the breakers beyond the reef, fierce and powerful, once I had feared lest I ever should be swept out and dashed to nothing. Now that was my hope, dashed to pieces to end the most miserable existence of a failed life. The raging sea was not my friend for it appeared to deny my last request, instead it continued to pound me against the rocks like I was it’s toy. At first I had tried to climb up the rocks but always swept back by the cat like sea, plying with its victim. Now the waters were calm enough for one to scramble to higher ground but that time for me had passed I simply closed my eyes and cried, my soul was dead and only a matter of time and my body would follow. The encouragement of friends fell lifeless in the waters beside me and sank out of sight.

I can not certify of the next event, whether it was a dream or in the flesh reality, another soul whom I knew stood on the rocks, why, I did not care to ask, perhaps for me they had come or perhaps they too were being dashed about by the waves, but in my selfish pride I viewed them as an object like the rocks, or the waves, or worse yet like the wind. Wishing to justify myself and also wishing to do one thing right before I could do nothing more I smiled at them and collected a bouquet of the best seaweed tangled about my body, with my half lifeless hand I thrust it at them, awaiting a reply that at least would give me my first and at best perhaps my second wish of feeling.

It was now only a little while and the tide would pull me out to the breakers beyond the reef and they would take me beyond the sands of time.

But what was that, my wish had been denied? A smile of joy over the simple gift, words of gratitude and delight! What had I though would happen? I guess the water had brainwashed my mind with a layer of silt and refuse. There is only one word for what happened next- miracle. In an instant my heart was broken, I saw I was becoming one with the waves and would soon be dashing helpless victims against the jagged rocks too, in a sadistic self-pity. But not what I would have become is my story, but instead what I did become is my story- for my heart was broken, broken in a good way! For, for the first time in a long time I felt, I felt joy, now I felt love too yes love! So they laugh and say what a seaweed of a story, no it’s not about seaweed, its about the Man, the Man who has the prints, the prints in His hands and the prints in His feet, the Man who came because of love! Now the breakers roar and the sea hisses out a death chant but I don’t care, for the waters can not drowned what He gave me! For now the wind sings a song of peace in the storm, the darkness only a cloth covering to be taken away and revile the Masters beautiful painting! My tears still flow but they are tears of gratitude, for what He did I could never have done!  My body is still weak and sore from that frightful day but my heart, my heart is happy! Now I stand at the top of the cliffs next to the Lighthouse that overlooks the sea, for two things I do this, One: to remember that it was all Him who brought me back from the dead. Two: to look for someone to take a seaweed bouquet from and in return give a smile and thank you, for to me it would be a honor to be a friend of such an one, for such an one was I. This I can promise them, Miracles Do Live!  Benjamin Waymire 3/3/19

"A Call to Arms"

'Twas a night like none other, the winter's searing cold strove to kill even the most vivid scenes of joy and goodwill humankind could know, with the biting chill of stone cold hearts, that only cared for their own crazed cravings.

The old clock chimed out the time in the wee hours of that morning over the sleeping masses, but there stood one lone vigilant Watcher, his face set into the biting wind, unwilling to bow in submission to mother nature's cruel night, unwilling to love just himself. As our brave Watcher stood vigil over the sleepy throng below, a shadow began to form; ghostly crystals in the iced air came to dance over the North. Their legend he had heard tell of, how once their bewitching power over mortals came, a thousand years of night would ensue, so cold, so dark as to make tonight, by comparison, a festive summers day. Not for a moment would he let his eyes dim nor drift from this gathering foe, hoping against hope that it was only a mirage dancing in fairyland. But alas, the faint shadowy demons began to take shape, for what our Watcher had heard tell of, now he sees for himself... below the masses unaware of the gathering doom; in their fairy tales dancing by an open fire, talk of how the world will one day be just as they want it and how almost 'tis now there, but save for “superstitious” Watcher who, for some archaic standard, believed one must always stay vigilant, even in the calm.

Many a strong man, with arm around his love, slept that night; also men of power, the buff dudes, the men of war, the crippled and the weak, the masses of just “ordinary” men, all asleep in an almost intoxicated frozen fog of self absorption. Meanwhile, our faithful Watcher is scaling down the frozen cliffs to reach the ones he has for so long looked out for and given part of his own life to warn. He knows this will be his last stand and is hurried on by the hope that it will not be too late to rouse the men of Selfishville to arms!! Through the streets goes the Watcher, calling with a strong voice at the top of his lungs:

“Up my fellow men, up to the fight! A foe more vile and pasty than ever we have seen is lurking; lurking in the shadows of the North and massing to seize this our home and all we hold dear!”

Street after street is called to arms, the Watcher's voice now crackles with the strain of the raw bitter cold freezing his vocal cords, but still at the top of his lungs he shouts out the call to arms! As he passes up and down the streets a thousand insults come hurling through the night air at him; the one demands to know “how dare you disturb my sleep?” Wives rail on him for daring to take away their husbands from the comforts of normal life, another curse and a scolding for frightening the children with fanciful fears of shadows on the horizon, even the pot junkie says “man, just live for today and let tomorrow be”. As frozen snowballs are hurled, stones thrown, clubs grabbed and knives brandished to force the Watcher to silence, he pleads with the men of Selfishville:

“My fight is not with you, my fight is for you and your posterity! I have seen the demons gathering over the North, and only you can fight them for your own homes! To arms my good men! They come to seize the very air you breath and suffocate you in your own wants. Me you want to silence? but joy only they will have at such a thing. O my men, will you not stand tall and fight to win a worthwhile battle? Will you not lead your family against all odds to be free from the depraved bondage of lust? Will you not flex your brawn in a fight of glory? Then flex your will in a fight for self control, 'tis given you as a right from the Almighty! Come on my dear men, be willing to love and give yourselves in life and in death for the ones who love you, and the ones who need you though they know it not!”

The stone cold glare gleamed off the frozen ground as if laughing at the lone Watcher as he turned and faded into the morning mist towards the North, to face the demons. His wife and young daughter lay asleep at home for they were safe because of their man and daddy, a brave man who would give up himself in life and death for them and the ones who needed him.

But would it all be in vain and would a doom of a thousand years be their lot too? As I followed the watcher out of Selfishville and towards the frozen cliffs, me thought as I cast a glance back upon the crowd, who I wrote off as cowards, a glimmer in a few eyes, a glimmer of the sun peaking through and melting the the stone cold heart... … or was it just a mirage?

My dear reader, you hold the answer. What will it be??