Outward Bound – By Vinny Shepherd
He knows that he’s wanted in some form, in most forms, but 1 form or
other is less than enough.
He had a pack of cards once, around New Years Eve, then, flick of a
switch, had a heart on a sleeve.
And struggling to breathe with what the eyes had discovered. An
eternity later, he’s still not recovered.
It kind of makes him mentally ill. But the skill is in proving the
pudding at will.
But will it? I doubt it. No matter which way he shouts it. It won’t make
things happen, 6 gods have decreed.
But it’s 1 god that calls it, the others agree. With a degree of glee on
1 part, the others seem content to set fire to their heart.
They know what the deal was, what it is, and should be. They just refuse
to remember the man that they see.
The man they lauded,applauded and loved.Who got shoved over cliff
after cliff through black glass.
That was made up, but stayed on his feet and at last, got all he
deserved on a plate.
How he ate. But the hate wouldn’t trickle down a drain called the past.
Are these the ramblings of a desperate man? Desperately tired, a heart expired.
On death row with a window seat. Still breath though, he continually needs.
A new soul hired, a hole rewired, He dug it himself. He does all his own
work. A company of 1. Will he ever get tired?
Maybe redundant, that suits him better. He’ll let himself go with a well
worded letter.
Or better still, an ill mans will, will protect his thick skin like a
great grandads sweater.
Why does he do this? Can he get through this? It’s out of his
hands, well, not entirely true.
The freedom of movement could carry him through. And his luggage, his
baggage, the average of 2.
There’s clearly a him but no queue to be you.
The decision was split through the middle. A bit of a fiddle
really, well, nearly. You see it’s like this.
His sister insisted on this. So it happened regardless of plotline or twist.
Surely he must be a catch for a whore. A 2nd class trophy, but to her
he’d be more.
Of a priceless exhibit, her talented limit. Like a sought after ration
in a passionless war.
He’s doing a thing that can thrill some, can kill some, and fill some
with dread from the centre of fear.
Which is not far from here, well, as the crow flies.Which is why i
despise open eyes through the skies.
See he’d rather be shut down by liquid or other. Like the womb of a
mother not the tomb of her brother.
Or any other that’s sacred to her come to that. He just wants to get
there without using the air but maintaining the flat.
That which he controls, in whole, not in part. So no, not pass go, collect
nothing, just start.
On a journey to somewhere that just makes him sweat but fills him with
memories outward bound to forget.
Or better yet, get there, and stay there, no panic involved. 1 small part
of a circus sized puzzle to solve.
So he knows he must put myself here, out of town. Let’s just hope for
certain the curtain stays down
He’ll do all he can to stay out of the loop. To miss out on the sights
that are rare and unique.
And negate the need to fumble with speak and span the horizon.
But unhappy am I to be wrapped in my blanket, alone in the sky…
Vinny from Hedon writes: “I wrote this, outward bound, on the floor of a deserted Manchester airport in the early hours of September the 14th 2009.”
The Wednesday Writings column has certainly dealt with a wide range of issues, tacked in different ways they have prompted different feelings and emotions from readers. The column has also shown that creative writing is something we can all have a go at.
So, if you want to submit something – a poem, a short story, verse or a piece of prose – for Wednesday Writings then e-mail it to hedonblog@gmx.com – and please put WEDNESDAY WRITINGS in the subject line.