Here’s a collection of short pieces I wrote in high school/early college for lit class:
“If I crack open the cookie jar of my memory just a tad, I am almost overwhelmed at the dozens of treats that lie within.”
I sit back and remember every minute of the best month of my life. It was July of 1989. Thirty-three Metro-Detroit Youth Ambassadors began a journey across the world to a place that, until recently, was misunderstood- the Soviet Union.
I remember laughing and pointing at the many sites of Moscow and other cities: the onion-domed cathedrals, the cars, and the vast numbers of ethnic groups that walked the streets. I remember laughing and learning as time went by. I never believed that it would end so soon, how fast I would grow up, and how it would influence me so deeply. Not a single day has gone by since that warm summer morning of July 2nd, that I haven’t sat back with a tear in my eye and dwell on the past and the lessons I learned. In all the tension and mixed emotions of the airport’s atmosphere, tears swelled our eyes as we parted in our different directions. Happy to be home, yet saddened by the fact that it was over. At that point, as I found myself fighting back the tears, I heard the faint tune of a song run through my mind.
Pictures in my head of the past month swayed to the soft music as I concentrated on the words and their meaning:
“Saying goodbye, going away
It seems like good-bye’s such a hard thing to say.
Touching a hand, wondering why
it’s time for saying goodbye.
Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we’ve had.
Much more to say, foolish to try
it’s time for saying goodbye.
Don’t want to leave, but we both know-
sometimes it’s better to go.
Somehow I know we’ll meet again,
not sure quite where and I don’t know just when,
but you’re in my heart, so until then-
it’s time for saying goodbye.
Want to smile, want to cry
saying goodbye…”
I sit alone now, still hearing the words, and wondering what ever happened to such good friends. As a tear rolls down my face the phone rings, and I thought to myself, memories will never die…
(10-18-90)
i am like a tree branch, broken off and taken away from the warmth and security of my tree. a bully swings me around like a sword, using me, using me to hurt people, to hurt myself. he teases me, twists me around, pressing me to the breaking point. what he doesn’t realize is that some people are just like branches, a little pressure and they snap. only in my case i have been bent over backward with so much anger, force, and speed that i shattered into a hundred pieces in all directions without even thinking of the safety of those around me, those who tried to stop the pain for me. I lay here now, broken, alone, and full of pain and anger. helpless, I lay there and watch in horror as the bully reaches for another branch, another destroyed and dying family. all I need is a little water and tender care, but there is none. I am alone, with the roots of my friends and family wilting in the heat of an evil world.”
Friends are like books: use them once then throw them in the fire to keep warm.
Friends are like books: you either use them once and throw them away or keep them around as a decoration.
“True knowledge comes not from knowing everything about something, but something about everything.”- (3/14/93)
* note: this actually started as a poem, but started getting so long it’s now becoming a short story
A cough, a wheeze;
A sniffle, a sneeze;
these are the ills of men.
The lance penetrates my shield,
slowly moving through my heart.
The Medicine Man bade me yield
to the power of esoteric art.
Up the stairway I Ascend
toward illumination of my Soul.
Down the pathway, to the end.
I came upon a golden bowl.
It in was my heart, beating fast.
Was this vision to be my last?
The Nothing closes in;
against its power I cannot win.
Try as I might I cannot break
that which is to be my fate.
I jump head-first into a lake,
praying that I am not too late.
Up the pathway I run
(oh, to gaze once more upon the Sun).
Down the stairway I trip and fall,
to land beside an enormous wall.
The bricks slip and slide,
as the heart beats inside
the bowl and is all aglow
with the light of Lifeflow.
The bricks begin to fall one at a time-
in all directions they fly.
Isolation was my only crime
and for the first in many years, I cry.
At the far end of the new chamber-
a chamber of 32 doors-
are my fears, the Dragons of my Soul.
These things that make good men evil.
Only one is locked,
sealed with great power.
I am sitting here in the darkness of my chamber. The dim light from the lamps flicker with my every breath and the soft music takes me back. I am in a forgotten age of white knights and castles of gold and silver. Silk banners sway in the breeze of a warm summer’s day as fair maidens frolic in the tall fields of grass.
It is a wondrous scene of magic and enchantment. A perfect world free of worries and despair. It is all I could ever hope for. A home in the country, nestled in the thick coverings of a forest grove. A rustling stream runs by the inviting home carrying all manner of intrigue to the young children playing in its cool waters.
But at the sight of the children I am reminded of the one thing that is missing. The one piece to make this tapestry complete. I stop and wonder where you are now, what you are doing and hoping you, in kind, are thinking of me.
To most this tiny country village would be a dream, but to me a recurring nightmare that repeats itself like a broken record. For an eternity I have been without you in my arms. I look to the empty bed and wish with all I have that you are dreaming of me and longing for all this love that is yours. For I long to once again pull you close and talk of things with the Stars alight in a clear sky, like a night I remember and keep in my heart of hearts.
The village is quiet now, the last whispers of the night have faded into the sounds of sleep. My pillow is calling to my weary head, ready for yet another restless night. I can only pray that when I wake this will all be the fading memory of a dream and you will be resting beside me with your silken hair limp against your face as it shines in the first rays of morning. Yet you never do appear and I must go on dreaming; dreaming of the day I finally can awaken and be with you and only you. All I know is that a life with you is an enchanted dream and a life without you a nightmarish journey through Hell. But still I sleep……
© 2007 R. Wolf Baldassarro/Deep Forest Productions
