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dedbr

I watch as in the distance the grass waves over the Bunker. I have long been gone from my second home, and it calls as no siren can. Too long she has sat with no one to use her toys, no one to play the music. Abandoned and shuttered like some long lost tomb awaiting the resurrection of the light and air.........

She calls me....

I walk to her thru the grass, the keys to her captivity in my hand. I will free her to sing the songs and play the music as of olde and be happy and safe in her bosum. The Bunker shall be home. I shall not want. It maketh me to walk thru green pastures. To smell her sweet, moldy, sweat socks dank funk again will be the only settling of my breast......My pace quickens.....

The sign is still up. The paint is washed and faded but it still carries it's last message, "Mustache Rides....Free" ........The first thing after that, the beloved tricycle. It's plastic streamers hang listless in the sun, seeming to have no more joy for the world. They shall fly once more, old friend, once more into the breach we shall ride and vanquish the foolish and timid from our ranks.........Hi Oh, trusty steed......

The stairs next and the door, heavily steeled from the bars I put over it, more to keep it in than some out. The keys shake and rattle as I turn the hasp and free the locks. In the sound of the rusty hinges I hear old songs and old friends. The darkness greets me, and for a moment before I flip the lights I feel water in my eye......Must be the air.

The lights sharpen my pupils for a second and in the flash I see a clown suit hanging in the alcove, body armor and kevlar beside it. My eyes adjust and I notice the reason it smells so bad......I forgot to empty Fangs cat box before I locked the Bunker up......Shit.......

The wall in front of me is full of the grafitti of the past visitors, across the top, "Buzzby" and below that "Mamabudz". Fat chick centerfolds from mama's friends....All the rest....It takes a moment to see it all again....So many Bunker Passes, so many friends, so many memories......

I flip on the music and Jimi Hendrix sings about a guy named Joe and a problem with his old lady.....It echoes down the hall as I walk, the jingle of my spurs matching my steps and the beat of the music.......I am home. The lawn chairs stacked against the wall finally bring a smile to my face as I gaze at the multi-colored straps and the memories of the laughter there.....

Mine sinks and clacks in the gravel as I sit to gaze across the grass once again and see all the love I need in my happy, happy plants.........


Some Where In Ded Land...............

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SpiralArchitect

Man, that was really well written. It captivated me and I couldn't stop reading until I had finished. Thanks for sharing that dude, I wish I could give you grams but I have reached my limit it seems, kudos regardless

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I embrace my desire to
feel the rhythm,
to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow
to feel inspired, to fathom the power, to witness the beauty, to bathe in the fountain,
to swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human.