The Search Series - Part One

Search…



The rumble tumble rolling hills,
Enshrouded in an air so still
As to persuade the long gone dead
To upturn every cold stone-head.

The fury of my flailing limbs,
Beckoned by those fatal rims.
One:  The setting crimson star;
The other:  Cliffs not quite so far.

Dull-tone grass is left behind,
As I race toward my peace of mind.
I see the edge now, clear and true.
Just one more gorge to travel through.

And one more chance before I die
To reminisce of days gone by:
A Cherry Coke, a hug, a kiss;
All the things that made life bliss.

On Autumn days:  The cool clean air;
The slowing down of Summer’s fair;
A park in which to take a stroll
Through rain that fell as Nature’s lull.

As this, each season holds a pleasure
(Tears of fears for each lost treasure).
I presently rehearse my bow.
“Descend into the maelstrom now!”



Don L. Waddell, 1992