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Wednesday, January 02, 2013

The Story Teller

"As a young man,
the child went to
those books for comfort;
The words had been
rubbed away, made empty."
The stories father told
while touching the pages
proved to the child
that the gray, lumpy
eyes could really see.

He wondered about
father’s charade and
fiction's infinite parade.

The stories of kings
and evil intentions blocked
by good hearts who
sacrifice were intended to
teach his son something.

Even to father
it seemed no
story ever recurred.

As a young man,
the child went to
those books for comfort;
The words had been
rubbed away, made empty.

He boxed the
books and put
Father there instead.
------

The Collected Chaff, v. 1.0
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