This story-rhyme is my BABY. Someday I was (?am) hoping to publish it as a children’s storybook. I release it to its first little outing with a mamma’s anxiety……
Due to specific reasons, the commentary is below the story. And NO PEAKING! After you read this, check out Kranpix_ MG_6878, for his pictures that tell 10000 words.
Their world, white and clear
lit by a soft light down below.
Sometimes one could clearly hear
swirling wind in clouds thick with snow.
To young Crystal, life was exciting and fun!
She was filigree’d, latticed and beautiful
as bright as the name she had won.
And as a little one, her elders taught
character traits brave and dutiful.
But dutiful she was not!
Floating, flitting here and there,
she was naughty, saucy and fought.
She frequently received her share
of discipline, rightly brought
from her defiance and lack of thought.
On cold, clear nights the elders loved sharing
a legend of a bright light from above.
But Crystal barely heard, little caring
to listen quiet, attentive and still
to old, boring stories she did not love.
Instead she dreamed of her refuge up the hill.
Grandma’s cave, Crystal’s greatest delight,
every object, glorious and fair.
A diamond wonderland, glowing bright.
Time seemed to stand still when she was there.
And, best of all, memory of Grandma’s presents,
homemade and filled with familial love,
were loving reminders of grandma’s presence.
One day, a gentle ray shone from above.
The elders met, quite concerned
for this was the legend they had learned.
Slowly over time, the light grew stronger
and with it their world grew warm.
It was obvious they could no longer
wait out this strange light storm.
After much debate it was agreed
that the group would quickly proceed
to the jumping point the legend decreed.
Horrified, Crystal cried, “I will not leave!
This is my home! The light will pass on.
We’ll throw a great party when it is gone.
Let us hide in cool caves, protected from rays.
And change the legend from past days.”
The elders grew angry, full of rage
that young Crystal, defying their edict,
and with authority, suggest another way.
The legend was the only way to predict
survival from this dangerous death pit.
Crystal pleaded, her face all aglow
for them to accept her plan.
If only they could only understand
The Past The Future Could Not Know.
She ran quickly to grandma’s cave.
The one place where her spirit flowed.
She kneeled by grandma’s grave.
Hoping her refuge could make her brave
and, with patience, continue to resist
no matter what the elders did insist.
And while her mind was in this mist
her mom came to the cave to assist.
“We are leaving, you cannot abide
alone with no one at your side.
We are confused and cannot relate;
Our group is agitated and irate.
Come quickly, we must leave.
Our new adventure will be great!
Duty to others our core.
Are we not agreed?”
Crystal sighed, duty a bore
but deeply instilled, and more
from which she could be freed.
Dragging, she wimped to the platform.
The mayor, raising his disaster horn
as the ray grew quickly warm
screamed, his chubby points flapping,
“We must all jump as a team!”
Each grabbing the next in line,
they all jumped just….. in…… time.
She floated aimlessly down below.
Lifting, turning with the wind’s blow.
“Look up mommy”, said a little boy.
“Its starting to snow!”
His face, full of anticipation and joy
as he reached out his mitten’d hand
and Crystal gently and softly fell.
For one moment, her beautiful glow
grew bright as her diamond cloud land
then gently melted, no longer snow.
So your first thought is: So this is a children’s poem? Who is your muse, Tim Burton? You will make kids sob over it!
Your second thought is: Wow that’s a disturbing ending from a disturbed mind.
Hopefully your third thought is the same as my English teacher: that may just be the best ending I have ever read.
This story was founded from a phone conversation with a best friend, Michelle Berkey. I was spouting off my newest Ideas About Snowflakes (having written a descriptive paragraph on them in English class earlier in the day), and suddenly it occurred to me: ” [GASP]…..Michelle, snowflakes are SUICIDAL! What a great idea for a story!” I could hear her rolling around on her bed laughing and laughing. So I wrote my Suicidal Snowflake story and showed it to my English teacher (who applauded the ending), but I was never really satisfied with edits, so away it went in a folder. While writing a “book” of poems for my parents for a surprise for Christmas, I decided on a whim to “poetize” it. Thirty minutes later it was done, and I realized it was a poem all along.
Recently I have seen this with new eyes. There are so many layers to it. Teen rebellion. Wrong choices. Tragic endings. Legends come to life. Lonely perspectives. The pressure that group dynamics bear upon decision. And a little melodrama 🙂 Sadly, no hope, only despair. And I am uncomfortable with this last one. For none of the above are pure or life affirming or uplifting. But now I hesitate….I cannot applaud it. So it is bittersweet, but isn’t life at times?