AT HANAUMA BAY
An original poem by Philip Church aka Staghound
Within the house, within the wall,
He strained his eyes to see it all,
Within a body that wouldn't heal,
Fingered joystick - driven wheel,
He dreamed of Hanauma Bay.
In his room at school, all tucked away,
Glancing out the window during the day,
He'd watch the others run and play,
He once was like them, his mother'd say,
As a boy at Hanauma Bay.
When the trip to high school he'd made
He met his funny, biker aide,
He told him in a voice without delay,
How much he missed that long, lost day,
being chased by the surf...
at Hanauma Bay.
Then there came a day of celebration
when this boy received his graduation,
The fire of life continued to burn
He swore that, someday, he'd return,
To the blue waters of Hanauma Bay.
The Reaper feared his sad defeat,
For with this he knew that he'd be beat,
So he swung his scythe, less he forgot,
To take his terrible, last, cheap-shot,
The waves crashed at Hanauma Bay.
Within the water beyond the beach,
Like a soul that's flown just out of reach,
I mix the ashes into the brine,
Smiling at the memories, his and mine,
Watching the children run and play,
In the warm, bright Sun...
At Hanauma Bay.
FATE
An original poem by Philip Church aka Staghound
One night, in the heat of sorrow,
I stepped outside and confronted the stars,
"Why?" I screamed to the night.
"Why must we suffer like this?"
Caught in the writhing of fate's awful twists,
So small was I,
As the pond's amoeba contemplating the mountain's city,
I pleaded the case and showed the wound,
Justice is a house we live in,
Heaven is our memory,
Hell perches upon our shoulders,
I railed against the sky..."Why?"
But the stars were silent,
The wind was cold, and...
I was alone.
