(no subject)

[beachbabe168]

I thought this poem was so fantastic that Ryan wrote about our childhood I had to post this so more people could see it harharhar

"Vanishing"

We played indians under yellow forsythia
war cries still reverberate
in the halls of a memory.

My best friend and brother
fought valiantly by my side
driving an unseen enemy
scurrying towards the bike shed.

A plastic water gun felt so heavy
as if lead slugs lie dormant inside
ready to crawl through summer-heavy air.

But to us they were real
an enemy's bullet
hissing and dodging like some wayward serpent
towards my left shoulder
making a connection as I performed
a death-dance, well-learned from TV.

My fellow vigilante knelt beside me
and I caught his russet eyes
and a flash of yellow flower
He asked if I was dying
So I told him yes

At eighteen, teetering on maturity
down-shifting in a canyon-red truck,
I caught the gleam of yellow
The echo of a war cry,
the scent of greasepaint

Remembering a vivid scene,
sun-painted western land and sky
created by minds of seven and nine;
and so I asked myself, is it dying?
And crestfallen, I answered yes.