Exercise 300608a

Part Two

A gallery of lies

was my life from

then on as I

slipped between pages of

history, mostly silent too.

But, as you do

when crossing that zebra,

trouble bites you anyways

like mossies to skin.


And before too long,

super calico breeches were

all the rage for

me. And life began

improving right up until

my key day, when

news somehow reached me

by the seaside of

my real folks demise.


Worse still, I had

inherited their fortune, made

from lax dulcet loans

to ingrates and simpletons

and dirt poor farmers

who bred like locusts.

So it stands now,

I am wealthy and

at ease with my


leisure, one Moet sip

at a time. And

as I Baluga my

way towards golden sunsets

and biscuits, always behind

me there is that

rushing sound, as if

a flood released raced

for which there is


nothing left but to

run, run, run away,

as fast as one

can under this circumstance.

Indeed an oriental dilemma

of marigold magnitude pressing

on starched linen and

velvet gloves; the mark

of a gentleman traveller.


But I skip and

I flaunt and flout

all convention by presenting

simple facts in hiccup

stanzas that jar and

jolt delighting no one

but myself. A pitiful

state to be in,

but one worth living.


Nonetheless, I try to

discover if Father Time

will own up to

his descendants, me in

particular even though mortal

flesh pressed to make

me to begin with.

No, I’m after more

loftier goals and rewards.


And it starts with

seeking his haven, his

refuge from the storms

of Passage, a rite

so many pass through,

from whence none ever

return. Not into Yesterday

which seems so far

away. Even from here.


© 2017 L. Tafa




Author: b20f08

I enjoy solo wargaming and writing. The first caters to the boy that never grew up; the latter satisfies a deep desire to communicate. Cheers.

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