The Well

Once I hit my brother and a pain filled my throat,

Bursting from inside my chest, from a hole.

He ran to tell my parents and silence filled the yard.

I stood there knowing there was no escape.

The welling inside a child when he knows he’s to blame.

The dread of the validation of his shame.

The welling dread of a dwelling head.

Who was I when I decided to be me instead?

Stinging past sings tempting paths,

In a time between sin and wrath.

I remember the garden breeze,

Whispering, “Where are you?”

Through the trees.

Gateway

Unexpected memory of a corridor
Voices roaring down the hall
A birthday held when I was four

Not for me, for the jolly good fellow.
An old man’s song if ever bellowed.
On a night that feels both mad and mellow.

I mused a moment, child’s mind,
Who were his friends there by his side?
They loved him then and so did I.

Lucky were the men back then,
To know my grandad as a friend,
Someone on which they could depend.

I wonder if he would be proud
If he had lived to see me now.
The singing voices growing loud…

He blew the candles on the cake
One day he lay and would not wake
Now floating down a gentle lake.

Nothing in this world will last
Our candles burn into the past
And shadow we no longer cast.

Unexpected memory of a corridor
Voices roaring down the hall
A birthday held at heaven’s door.

Written by Randall Evans

Puppy Dog Eyes

I’m a spot in a puppy dog’s eye,

I, in eye, insignificant am I?

The tiny speck in the cutest face,

You notice not my rightful place.

I’m a nothing, if not the key,

A detail smaller than a flee.

But details add to masterpiece,

Piece by piece and none the least.

Have you seen what draws the spots?

The mystic pen that draws in dots?

The ink that hides reality,

Designed by divine majesty

.

I’m a detail, nothing more.

To show creations biggest flaw.

That normal isn’t that at all,

It’s overwhelming art and awe.

Written by Randall Evans.