The Poetry Corner featuring Kelcey Rockhold

Good morning everyone, and welcome to this week’s Poetry Corner! Please welcome Kelcey Rockhold! 🙂

The First River – Rockhold

Hungry for the earth, the air
An ancient man traveled, grey haired and sun beaten, his chest heavily heaving.
He walked on a path that pulled and strayed him
Making his way past the familiar “DO NOT ENTER” sign
To the river he hoped now flowed, laid smooth with moss rock.

Swallows sang in the branches that hung overhead
A tangle of shade as he made his way through grass
To the slope of the river’s edge.
Kneeling into the hard-hearted ground,
He looked down into an empty casket miles long, bone dry.

Weary, he licked his chapped cracked lips and tripped
And a bramble thrashed his face.

Too many faces.
Thoughts polluted his focus, and the man quickly lost his way.

He tried desperately to find his way to the path from where he’d come
Only to find that he had taken the wrong one.
Panic filled his lungs, a vaporous gas he could not escape.

Darkness crept in slowly with each horrific memory
Reminding him of every single one he was walking the world to rid himself of.
They followed him, the tireless ghosts.

Every woman. Every child. Every man.

Chased by his past from his farmhouse east of where he’d walked
The tormented man stumbled back towards the empty riverbed instead.

Each gaunt face filled his mind,
As the Star of David lit the screams of anguish,
Bunk-beds filled with fear, the daily march.
His endless uniformed watch, his stone still chest, standing statue faced.
The barbed wire gates that offered no way out,
Not even now;
The prison keeper found he’d become the imprisoned.
On this dim night as the old man desperately sought his way
Passing by signs he’d earlier hung, he tore them down one by one,
An ode to what was needed no more. “KEEP OUT,” piling them like bodies
Refusing to let tears rip the skin on his well worn face.

With the flick of a match he’d kept near his breast, he set the signs aflame.
Light hit his face; his grief masked by the smoke that was too familiar, even now.

Gently pulling out a well worn photo of a woman in white,
He held it tenderly the way he had held her on cold nights, the flames around her vivid, angelic…
Remembering the creak of her step in the farmhouse hall he could recall her greying hair,
The way she had looked at him with questioning eyes when his own were far away.

He had on his person a timepiece holstered and untouched for many years, a Luger 9mm.
Such a small token of power to drop hearts full of holes to the ground.
The steel trigger warning that would blaze like the fire before him,
The shots fired bringing silence to onlookers,
Obedience to the starved, the living dead.
Too many shots resounded in his past that he could not recall the first body to fall.

He looked at the photo once more, before a Bang tinged it the color of love.

At dawn the sun crested on the casket of the empty bed,
Illuminating the first river it had seen in years
Flowing slowly from him
The black and white and red of his life; the ache of soul.
His memories now drifted away, pistol in hand.

Powerful poem, Kelcey. Thank you so much for sharing! 🙂

Keep up with Kelcey by following her on:

Blog

Twitter

If you would like to share your poetry here, or know anyone that would like to be featured, please email me at cpbialois@gmail.com

As always, any poetry shared remains the property of the poet. I only share it with the poet’s permission.

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About CP Bialois

Where do I begin? Well first I guess it's only fair to say that CP Bialois isn't my real name. It's a collaboration I made out of the three greatest pets anyone could ever want. My real name is Ed and I'm just an average person that has found a way to do what he loves. For as long back as I can remember I loved to pretend. Whether it was with my Transformers, GI Joe, or He-Man toys I loved to create intricate plots and have them fight it out. As a fan of horror, science fiction, action, and comedy I dare say my taste in movies are well rounded. Some of my favorites were Star Wars, Star Trek, martial arts, and anything with Swarzenegger in them. I'd write my own stories about the characters I saw in the theaters or TV or I'd just daydream about what I'd see myself as the hero of course. You can't have a daydream without beating the bad guys, getting the girl, etc. It's just not right to envision yourself as a flunky or sidekick. As far as books I loved Sherlock Holmes, Treasure Island, Dracula, and the normal assortment. My early love was the Star Trek novels, I'd read them or the Hardy Boys relentlessly. For a time I could tell you the plot of over a hundred books not to mention comics. I have to come clean and say that I learned to read because of comic books. I was bored, make that extremely bored when we started to read in school. Reading "the cat fell down" really didn't interest me. My dad, who continues to astound me with his insight to this day, figured comics would work. With that in mind he went to the newstand in town and bought issues of Donald Duck, Scrooge McDuck, Tales From the Crypt, and Spider-man. He patiently read through them with me until I picked it up. Whether it was him or the comics I learned to read in about two weeks and for a while few were as good as I was. For years after that whenever we'd go out he'd always spring for a couple of comic books for me. While it wasn't exactly the perfect beginning everything I've ever read or have seen has influenced me in some way and now is the time I'd like to share some of the ideas I've had over the years with all of you. I hope you enjoy my stories, they're always fun to write and I don't see myself stopping anytime soon.
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