Jewel-Lie

By Dave Hite

Each day brought waves of garish men,

on their way to midsummer parties.

I watch from the safety of

the seedy bridge tower,

intimidated by their pompous manners.

Hiding from the civilized

was a learnt practice;

a cultivated gem from the hidden wildflowers.

My cousins taught me the truths of the constellations,

and for that I was satisfied.

No strangers were needed.

Despite being remote,

in the foothills of the present,

these men continued to appear.

They tugged along barrels of supposed serenity,

an ochroid liquid that caused them to

welcome feral behaviors

as if each punch thrown could erase a figment

of their overflowing anger.

Each yell and whoop made me flinch,

fear melting into my innocent heart

like amber in toughened bark.

Yet I watched on, entranced by their primordial dance,

stung by their abundance of joy and laughter.

Middays passed and the months continued to crawl away

toward fall.

The celebrations continued in vibrance and vigor,

each week bringing freshly wasted faces

to attempt an execution of their problems.

Bodies would lay, unconscious, in the grass

as others sucked the poison from their lips.

These acts seemed disturbing from the tower’s shade,

but once awoken,

the living dead would dance again;

repeating a cycle that constantly killed them.

By now, in the hollows of the season,

women and girls had started to show at the gatherings.

They danced and worshiped the sunny skies

harder than anyone I’d ever seen.

Happier than flaring fireworks,

they would hold hands and roll in the dirt,

covering themselves in sweat and sunlight.

Apart from the men,

they would also indulge in intoxication.

Yet theirs was shimmery and weightless,

something seemingly harmless amidst July’s gem.

The parties would fizzle at the creep of dawn

which was when I would slink away

to the house.

I would see the bonfire of my family

and race to its flame,

completely safe at last.

My sister’s arms would fall across my shoulders 

as she scolded me for running off.

Dismissing the unnecessary warrant of worry,

I would describe the rugged games

of the rag tag foreigners in bright delight.

They’re young and lively!

Spirited as the moon and stars!

I swear, they dance as if 

they have the fountain of youth…

My eyes are burning asteroids

in the bitter firelight.

I hope to live to laugh like they do…

My ramblings are met with slight chuckles 

and shaken heads.

My family dismisses my excitement 

for naïve wonder,

returning to their own mundane whispers.

I’m crestfallen by their disbelief,

unmoving in my belief 

that the beings I observed were gods.

Don’t waste your time

stalking those sullen dreamers, brother.

My sister spoke through thick shadow,

a midnight silhouette to my tired eyes.

They are fool’s gold,

beings drowning in the gift of the present.

There isn’t a bitter chill

to keep them sane now.

They’re victims of the summer’s jewel;

a bijou irresistible to those trudging through Hell.

Her form disappears from the circle’s blaze,

slipping past the old screen door of home.

Her words echo in my young ears,

hot and venomous.

I was positive the strangers could

feed me milk and honey,

but I get a warning instead.

Fury licks at my stomach

and steam burns my racing heels.

I find the tower’s stoic form once again

before looking on to the foreigner’s paradise.

The grove is silent now, awash with deafening emptiness.

I step across the bridge for the first time,

looking out for any sign of crazed souls.

Stillness continues to graze,

until my foot startles a moment of life.

I look down…

…A corpse stares back…

I yelp 

and feel the stiffness of an unnatural wind.

A copse of trees vanish

and the cowl of the Reaper stares back;

a puddle of ravenous indifference.

Nothing but the gleam of a scythe

speaks back to my frozen form.

Suddenly, 

I understand the jewel of summer; 

the lies of a captivating gem.

There isn’t a fountain of youth

or a joyous hub of the gods.

This clearing is just a grave 

for those who thought they

could dream up an unruled reality.

By Dave Hite