- Written by: Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 2094
Poetry… The creation of godly words set fire in the soul of Christ, then branded on the soul of Man.
In a crack between past and present, sits a young man on the snow melt creek near a monastery in Tibet. He meditates the world of words that has passed him by. A monk from the monastery on his way to town notices the young man alone, notices that he cries. He goes over to him to see if he’s alright.
Now all that was left was a broken plate. As I sat in bed, I recalled what had happened the night before. The look of hurt written all over her face when I yelled back at her for the first time. Why did I feel so bad inside just thinking about it all?
It was around four on a sunny afternoon on a Saturday that the whole thing happened. There were two friends that were playing video games,John and Natalie, and were spending the day together for the weekend at John's house. After a while they got bored of playing games. Natalie was on the phone texting with John next to her.
For most of our married life, my wife Ann and I lived in the New York City. We dined out a lot and both liked Sunday brunch in Greenwich Village - especially buffet style brunches that threw in a few glasses of Champagne - okay, it wasn't Moet Chandon or Vive Cliquot, but it went well with the fresh strawberries, papaya, pineapple and Bing cherries that were set in beautiful array along with a dozen or so entrees on the buffet table.
While on our honey moon in Florida we visited Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park. After an exhausting but exciting tour, we rested on a park bench and sipped a cool drink.
Across from us sat a shabbily dressed middle aged gentleman, a dog rested its chin blissfully on his lap. Next to their bench was a make-shift stand with small bottles of clear liquid. An attached sign read,
WATER FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH $.39
MONEY BACK GUARANTEE