Map to the stars no. 106 by Steve O In the chronicles stored within the catacombs of my memory My thoughts fondly caress the summers of my youth The days stretched in utter contentment upon the body of an endless summer Where the days not spent in endless fancy and exploration? Did my youth not frolic endlessly upon the summit of McAlister Hill? Was this point of youth not the apexical pedestal of my experience? Where the clouds swirled around its summit not swaddling my youth in bliss? Did not the in-utero touch of the warm breeze touch my ruby cheeks with her fingertips? My countenance lifted to receive the bounty of simple contentment that would later escape my adulthood. The sky a painted canvas of ventriloquist skill splashing fanciful carousals of whimsy by unquestioned proxy and skill Did not the last summer spent on the grassy knoll change my young life? Did not Abigail of sweet tresses of gold and innocent sweetness appear there? Or were the heavens unnaturally enticing the last year of my youth? A summer supine to my heart, yielding up a life severely vivid. P.S. And in the memoirs of my Autumn soul The grass still grows to the very heavens I so ephemerally visited. The corner of a life sill nurturing the season on McAlister Hill Even though the portrait fades in the seasons of wisdom. -fin
Reason for writing:
Experiences of youth
Birth sign: Aquarius
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