Phantom Voice

“You guys can go ahead without me. I think I’m going to stay around here,” said Miles Crandle.

“Are you sure? We’re planning on having a lot of fun, Miles. We’re going to the zoo and then heading downtown to go window shopping,” said Julie Graylin.

“Yeah. Like I want to shop with a bunch of women,” he said with a grin.

Julie playfully slapped him on his shoulder. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later. Take care of yourself and promise me you won’t go looking through old photos again.”

“You know I can’t promise that, Julie. Sometimes they make me feel better.”

“But she’s gone, Miles. And every time you look at those photos, I can see the pain in your face,” she said with a worried look on her face.

“I know she’s gone. But I will do my best not to look. Ok?”

“Ok.” Julie lightly kissed Miles on the cheek and walked out the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Coffee in the afternoon at Gerald’s again?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

Miles closed the door behind Julie as she waved and walked away. He stood in the entry to his three-bedroom house as a tiny tear trickled down his cheek. He remained there for a few minutes, lost deep in thought. After a while, he wiped the tear from his face, and headed to his bedroom, the one that used to be their bedroom. He sat on the blue-flowered bed and reached under it searching for a familiar touch. The album slid easily out from under the bed and he placed it on his lap. Miles Crandle gently touched the white leather cover of the album. His fingers traced over the words “Our Wedding Day” that were embossed in a golden hue. Read the rest of this entry »

I crave your eyes.
I crave their deep souls.
I crave your lips.
I crave the honeysuckle kisses.
I crave your life.
I crave its ruby existence.
I crave your mind.
I crave our silly conversations.
I crave your smile.
I crave the happy warmth.
I crave your world.
I crave to exist in its golden heaven.
I crave everything about you.

But mostly I crave the simple love you give me in all moments throughout our prior and future lives within a universe that would be only dark if your eyes, lips, life, mind, smile, and world did not exist in it for all of eternity with me by your side wishing for you the most happiness that could ever be accomplished in this gloriously shining life that is much more glorious because you do love me and I know you do and I love you and always will because you are the light in my eyes, the craving of my soul, and the true meaning of my existence and I will forever be thankful to your mother for one thing: your birth.

(Created for my wife’s birthday on July 25th, 2008)

The strength of the red, the caring of the blue.
Are they the sole? No, there’s also the white
of the clouds and of the pure eagle’s flight.
But white is a rainbow of dew (or due?)

Is white due over the red or the blue?
Yes, it is due an explosion of light.
Enlightenment is not ever a fright
unless the red and the blue say it is true.

White is all of the colors working together.
The mother blue and strong red must step down
from soap boxes and untie the tether
and be part of white, part of the ether
that poisons and cures the pink, green, and brown.
White is not the cow, it is the leather.

“Mr. Luclin,” said the little boy. He sat among the other children watching the old man closely.

“Yes, Scotty?”

“Will you tell us a story?”

“Of course, of course,” said Christian Luclin. “But I don’t know if I can remember any right now,” he said as he rubbed his bearded chin.

A sigh could be heard across the gathering of children. Christian Luclin was the best storyteller on the block. Children would gather around him at about this time every day looking for a fantastical story of wizards, witches, dragons, and more. The parents thought the old man to be eccentric. He had moved into this apartment complex only ten years before, and most of his friends were children. The blue sparkle in his eyes was reassuring to them, however. So they let their children listen to the stories. It kept them occupied while the parents prepared dinner. He was supposedly a rich man, which made them wonder why he chose this place to live. It was one of the more rundown apartment buildings in the city.

Christian Luclin started to laugh and the children smiled, knowing he was only teasing them.

“Christian Luclin, not having a story to tell? Bah,” he said as he looked around the room to make sure all of the children were paying attention. Other than Bobby, who was secretly picking his nose, the children were all staring at him, waiting patiently.

“It began long ago, as most of my stories do, when Saphrym, a boy who was soon to become a man, was fighting the trees and the squirrels with his wooden sword…” Read the rest of this entry »

On the white sheets lie shades of peach and crimson.
Her brown eyes see tears rolling through the room.
A framed portrait presents a denied future.
Aching, the pale lids close and absorb peace.

The progeny, cheeks wet, quit to another room.
One remains, trembling and daring to defy,
Fingernails dig into the flesh of numb hands.
His mind’s voice screams to the heavens:

My child will never know her grandmother!
She won’t be held by her anymore,
Kissed by her anymore,
Spoiled by her anymore.
She’ll never be able to sit in her lap,
Say ‘I love you’,
And feel the love returned ten-fold!
You!
You denied them both!
And you denied me!

A sob escapes from his lips as legs buckle.
His eyes close in mourning.
Arms drape across shaking knees.
A beaten soul slouches in defeat.

A light flows over the soft grave.
His wet eyes search out the origin.
From within the now pale husk
The tips of feathers reach upwards.

Pearly wings spread from the carcass,
Followed by radiant robes of white.
The heavens draw the angel to them.
Her smile roots its love in the heart of a son.

He suddenly becomes aware of a spectator.
His eyes turn toward the clueless crowd.
Wrapped in the comfort of a mother’s arms,
His tiny cherub watches with smiling eyes.