Seriously, It Is A Matter

The gate, it was rigged to always close with a mechanism attached which was; a heavy round rusty gear.  Iron, I thought, it did not work.  An enamel sign nailed to the wooden garden bench, read,  "Chat Lunatic."  I thought it was a place for crazy people to sit and chat. This bench, was barely visible; it gave me a case of shudders. That little voice that my Father likes to call  my conscience screamed  a warning,  just leave! My sis wanted to know if I could hear a banjo nearby?


"Don' t alter  my altar,
Don't desecrate my shrine,
My church is the water,
My home is underneath a shady pine,
Don't underestimate the spine of a poor mans back,
when its against a wall and his future is black,
one mans story, oh is another  mans shame,
I ain't bound for glory, no, no, I'm bound for flames,
so take to the woods boy, and cover up your tracks,
go away child,
go away,
and don't look back."*

Is what we heard! The voice sounded like it meant what it said.

The roof of the house was really a pretty green. I thought it must be of copper. I thought about that while I looked up at the point that met the sky. The sign, down here in front of me still said, "Keep Out."

The pine needles were piled up all around the bench, I wondered how long it had been? Just how long had this place been abandoned?

We still have not crossed that line.





*Song of the Blackbird, One Man's Shame
William Elliot Whitmore

(At this point, you need to know that this is off the top of my head, I am not editing. If I did that, this little story would never be told, so, you can edit it in your head for me, but I am intending to just keep on writing this down as fast as I can, so have at it) I am just trying to tell you a story.