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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3821 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Brother, My Brother Tamara Armed with a Mason jar prison and BB gun, he assaulted the field beyond the house. Just past the bunny cage and reaching to the creek beyond. This field was the beauty of Texas. Bluebonnets, soldiers standing post, beside a squadron of Indian paintbrush. With a single puff of a southern breeze, the eye of the pink prairie rose, flirted with the soldiers in their blues. Grass burrs patiently waited for socks so they could leach and take a ride. Rocks scattered amongst the field were hiding places for the boys prey. Snakes: slimy, slithering critters of night, held captive of jar, mastered by boy, until death do them part. Youngster’s Paradise. The yonder creek played mother to an elm tree, that nursed upon its banks. The tree with its muscle bound limbs, braced a handmade army bunker. Wood planks nailed into boughs became a lofty home away from home. Irony at its utmost: Dead tree upon live. A knothole created a face upon the trunk, a ghostly image of a limb long gone. The hole played haven to a snowy white owl. The wide eyed owl, with its Inner Light, sung a song of victory to its soldiers. With powers unrestrained by youth, boy became the executioner. His sight upon the owl, trigger released, he brought death to the bird of minerva. What once was heaven bound, is now forever grounded. The white feathered backdrop was stained with crimson red. A macabre scene was the last glory to the life of the ethereal owl. No victory song sung for his feat. Snakes were his only prisoners of war. He now had blood on his hands, and a deep pain in his heart He fell to his knees and wept. That day, innocence lost, he became a warrior. |
