Dear Reader,
Welcome to The Storyletter. There’s a special relationship between reader and writer, something unique to the medium. Without you, there’s no story. True, the writer facilitates the journey, but it comes to life when the reader makes it into their own. So here’s a story for you and I can’t wait to see what you make of it. ~ WM
Born at water’s edge, taken to the skies,
Young among nature, wild in your eyes,
Birds of a feather, bright future, sun-setter,
Timid, vulnerable, unfettered and weathered, the last stop is the first drop from the nest,
The rest is true atop the big blue, sensing the sly attack of a snack on the line,
We chase the wire ever higher, never tire, clever liar,
Hunger comes at the worst of times and we travel far and wide to dip and dive,
Predators arrive just as a crow flies, the evil, the terror, the fang-bearer,
Yet you’re there, the protectors of hide and hair, whisked away to yet another day,
The sun risin’ on the horizon, reds and yellows, reflections of the beginning of everything,
The elements of living are winning a heart of cold, dark depths, a mind of infinite steps, and a bit of pure luck,
Watching from afar, yet like ducks to a pond you’re not fond of hellos or goodbyes,
You’re the eldest of us, the subtracted and the plus, the guiding vision of the mission,
Without you we wouldn’t know what to do, longing for the new and wholly original,
The pinnacle of the cynical ignoring how the wind blows and the tide flows,
Red, dead, nothing left but shame and dread, ears listening inside the head,
Witness the glistening brilliance upon an ocean vast, cast out the wingspan fast and fear not for the guardians are here at last,
We see you, forever gilded upon memories everlasting, passed down through generations of net casting, the rod and reel, the spool and hook, lines connecting lines and times long past,
Irreplaceable, lost and never face-able, the ghosts of myths and fables told at dinner tables,
Angels, white and pure, flying free over the seas, seeds of a dying breed so it seems,
Guardians perched atop wooden piers it would appear is all we really need,
Ancient as the cosmos, those that came before are the door to what lies ahead,
Instead, you and me flock together, never better,
A final letter of the soul written by a pen dipped in gold, told and retold,
Growing old, bold like trees rooted on cliffs breaking wave after wave after wave after wave,
The longest of days slipping by with ease knowing that eternal guardians flit amidst the salty breeze.
I listened to this song while writing the poem:
Damn. This was so, so, so good Winston!!!
Beautifully told and I can tell the song helped with the flow