Category: collage

Chasing Freedom

Flyin’ without leavin’ the earth ! Original DDE™  art: “Road Rocket” by: rob kistner © 11/11/25

—-<§>—-

twistin’ the throttle

rocketin’ two-wheeled through the Cascades

rippin’ it west to the Pacific

the 4-stroke’s heartbeat syncs with my own

 

ahead on my left

I see an opening in the forest

 

beyond is sunlight

and the sound of something very powerful—

a foundational-movin’-the world kinda power

promising otherworldly adventure

 

the road ahead forks

giving me options—

journeying deeper into this enchanted wood

or seeking that other promising mystery

 

in that moment — I am seduced

 

a raw rolling rhythm carries me onwards

charging towards that woodland heaven’s gate

the rumble of horsepower between my legs

 

I dive into a lefthand turn

inner knee out and low

just inches above the road

the other tight to the tank

wind screaming past

like laughter from the gods—

 

and when I rise out of my lean

the light explodes—

 

sun flashing through conifer branches

like a thousand diamonds

scattered across the day

 

the road winds — twisted and wild

snaking through mist

moss

old growth

and ancient mountain stone

 

every bend a thrill

a breath held

then expelled in a heady rush

 

I feel it in my bones—

that wild whisper of freedom

the bite of cool heady petrichor on my face

the pulse of life

running hot through the veins of the world

 

bursting out of the trees

through the forest break

the coast throws wide its embrace—

 

Oregon’s ultimate edge

vast and shimmering

spreads  before me

 

the ocean roars her welcome

along her bouldered shoreline

a silver highway rolling away to infinity

beckons me— come

 

I downshift — lean into another turn

as down — down

down I roar to the water’s edge

to surf the border between earth and sea

 

massive chiseled coastal cliffs rise to my left

waves pound to my right

seabirds call to me from on high—

“please please

please come on—

faster — faster…

get that bike up on its pipe

get it rollin’”

I hear them in my head

I hear them on the wind

”I am coming” I whisper to he wind

my promise carried away

 

every rise — every curve

every gust of salty breeze

feels like diving straight into paradise—

 

not some faraway dream

but right here

in the thunder of my wheels

 

my laughter erupts joyously

unbidden from my throat

as the simple — yet profound truth sets me free

 

the truth that freedom

isn’t somewhere else—

it is right here

 

it’s this ride itself

this rush tingling my body

singing through my soul

as the sun burns golden

over the restless sea

 

in this ride through the Cascades

the world opened to me

opened like a living dream

 

the air trembling with the scent of conifers

the far cry of rivers

as I cut and wound through the ancient—

 

and now the sea mist

surging upward as the wild surf

 slams hard the sea boulders

that are nestled firm in the sand

the result — spray likened to holy water

blessing this amazing adventure

this amazing ongoing journey

the surf roaring approval

 

the motorcycle growls beneath me

a low steady thumping

a heartbeat

carrying me between worlds

 

between mountains and clouds

forest and the earth’s far horizon

I’m chasing something I can’t quite name—

 

not speed

not distance

but release — freedom

 

what I ultimately catch

is a realization

 

freedom isn’t a thing found

not a thing given

it’s a thing chosen

in the instant you trust the road

 

the wheels

the wind

the wildness

 

in that consuming instant

I reflect on those in this world not free

not able to make that choice

denied access to that crucial pivot point

that life altering opportunity

 

exhaling gratitude

I put my head down — my teary eyes up

as onward I roll

leaning into the curves

 

rob kistner © 11/11/25

Poetry at: dVerse

 

 

Spellbound

poet
you are enigma

darkness and shadow
you veil and shroud

fire and light
you burn and incandesce

torch my essence
burn deep my soul
trouble my spirit
unsettle my being

then poet
ignite my wonder

whet my seeker’s vessel
with need
to be filled full

poet
at once familiar
yet
exotically foreign
wonderfully strange

wrongly boxed but
exquisitely wrapped

in angst
indignation
longing
discovery
loss

in love

with all these
and infinitely more
you reach an empty place
deep within

echoing my past
awakening my myths

exposing
that which I embrace
in the moment
as truth

refocus me

stirring my pain
my anger
my loneliness

my hope

offering just enough answer
that I combust with question
sacred uncertainty

I’m held
suspended in inquiry
in memories of neverwas

enrapt by your careful words
transfixed by mystery
elevated by insight
impaled by vision

spellbound

The Secret

IMG_8614
photo collage: “The Secret” — by: rob kistner © 1997

 
The Secret

~

from the dawn of awareness
through the dark times
beyond the ages of change
into these times

they have kept it
the keepers of the secret

and now
with great fortitude of will
to safequard frail truth
they must keep it still

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2019


 

  • Click for more dVerse poetry:

    Quadrille #91 – Keep

    • Bloody Sue

    bloodysue-web.jpg

     

    Bloody Sue

    ~

    Gather close so you might hear
    A tale of terror, a tale of fear
    Of a vigilante from beyond the grave
    Only justice did this spirit crave
    You may choose to doubt my word
    But know damned well this all occurred

    A vengeful maiden dressed in red
    7 men lured, 7 men dead
    7 men drawn to this comely miss
    7 souls lost to her lethal kiss

    A modern legend is Bloody Sue
    Her deeds of terror are bold and true
    Was she from hell or heaven’s gate
    It’s certain her victims earned their fate

    The first, the banker, a crooked man
    Stole dreams of others with his evil plan
    To own the world, to possess the lot
    Now all that’s his is a dead man’s plot
    Found with coins choked down his throat
    Clutched in his hand a bloody note
    “You greedy bastards, this could be you
    Remember well!”, signed Bloody Sue

    The second, the lawyer, a prideful sort
    Lied and cheated to win in court
    And bragged of his dishonest way
    Until violence marked his final day
    Found one morning with bashed-in head
    A bloody gavel lay on his bed
    “Bludgeoned here for his lies and scandal!”
    Read Sue’s note, wrapped ’round the handle

    The third, the bishop, a man of lust
    Molested innocent’s, betrayed their trust
    Kept a journal of his lurid deeds
    A trophy to all his prurient needs
    Found on his pulpit with a bloody lap
    His private parts in his bishop’s cap
    “Beware vile predators throughout this land!”
    Sue had carved in the bishop’s hand

    Fourth was the baker, a gluttoness fool
    Treated his workers horribly cruel
    Paid wages that left an empty plate
    While he gorged himself – he ate and ate
    One day at the bakery’s opening hour
    He was found dead in a vat of flour
    Across the vat, bold and big,
    In chocolate icing, Sue wrote “pig!”

    Then the lazy chief of the town’s police
    Unsolved cases filled his valise
    Crime and violence everywhere
    While he snoozed in his office chair
    One day shots rang loud and clear
    Sue riddled the chief from ear to ear
    “Get another chief, get this damned work done!”
    Said the note from Sue, found by the gun

    The office gossip, and his jealous way
    Spread lies and rumors on the phone all day
    His envy the ruin of many good names
    Destroying lives with his vicious games
    Sue used his phone to strangle him
    And left a voice mail dire and grim
    “To all who ruin a reputation
    You too will die from strangulation!”

    Last… the radio talk-show host
    Spreading propaganda, coast to coast
    Pawn of a racist politician
    Thought he was above suspicion
    Electrocuted on his live broadcast
    Sue dealt justice hard and fast
    She was heard to say as hot sparks flew
    “Beware you haters, I’ll fry you too!”

    So that’s the story of Bloody Sue
    Believe it or not, that’s up to you
    A brutal beauty in scarlet cape
    From her vengeful hands there’s no escape
    She will draw from you your final breath
    If she marks you with her kiss of death

    Some say a ghost who haunts this earth
    Others claim an angel, of heavenly birth
    But all agree there’s one thing true

    If you’re a son-of-a-bitch,
    She’ll come for you

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2008

    __________

    collage at top: “Scarlett Lady”by: rob kistner © 2008

    Reaper Groom

    A MURDER MYSTERY

    I’ve always been fascinated by who-done-it’s and classic horror stories, so I was inspired to write this piece with a ‘retro’ gothic feel.

    Lyle, the socially awkward, seemingly milquetoast villain of this tale has a ‘killer’ obsession. A shy, mild-mannered church organist; he is ‘changed’ into a murdering menace — by loneliness and rejection.

    BE WARNED: This poem, and the collage I created to accompany it, are both a bit graphic — in a noir-tongue-in-cheek sort of way.

    I invite you to enjoy, “Reaper Groom”.

    reaper-groom500d.jpg

    collage above entitled: “Thief of Hearts” — by: rob kistner © 2008

    ___________

    Reaper Groom

    ~

    backlit by a lightening flash
    a figure scurried ‘cross the yard
    between the gravestones he did dash
    head down low, and running hard

    dressed in cape of velvet black
    he seemed to vanish from our sight
    but then we saw him double back
    he would not escape tonight

    elusive as a demon’s shadow
    ghost-like — he could disappear
    but no more, this scourge of sorrow
    finally, we were drawing near

    surround and capture, was the plan
    the hounds had tracked him to this place
    this had to be our wanted man
    though none had seen his evil face

    we were sworn to bring him down
    bloodthirsty was this man — and cruel
    he’d caused such horror in our town
    if he escaped, we’d look the fool

    the target of our townsfolk’s hate
    he must be caught this beast of doom
    he’d killed so many brides to date
    we knew him as the “Reaper Groom”

    he took the lives of countless bride
    murdered them by dark of night
    once betrothed they couldn’t hide
    death was sure to be their plight

    marriage took an awful blow
    as one by one our maidens fled
    our bachelors’ ire began to grow
    there were no wives to share their bed

    this had to stop — no maids for men
    it wasn’t natural, wasn’t right
    this curse would never be again
    it would end, right here, tonight

    we had him cornered in our net
    he’d not escape our clutch this time
    he owed this town an awful debt
    he’d pay quite dearly for his crime

    we closed in slowly, with great care
    we’d make sure he couldn’t run
    we deftly caught him in our snare
    and gathered round him, every one

    we took him roughly in this place
    and chained him to a stony block
    and brought a torch to light his face
    then gasped, and staggered back in shock

    this couldn’t be, not this poor fool
    this shy man of timid smile
    we sought a monstrous evil ghoul
    this was bashful lonely Lyle

    Lyle played organ every Sunday
    and lead the hymns, as we would sing
    our fiend escaped, we’d get him one day
    and when we did, for sure he’d swing

    it wasn’t Lyle, it was another
    Lyle was not the type, you see
    Lyle lived with his aging mother
    so we’d set lonely Lyle free

    but Lyle spoke up in quiet voice
    don’t turn me lose, please, I forbid it
    you see you really have no choice
    cause I’m your man, that’s right, I did it

    I killed these maidens everyone
    I’ve charged this town a heavy toll
    but my spree is over, I won’t run
    this weigh’s too heavy on my soul

    sentenced to hanging at his trial
    Lyle was shortly going to die
    looking sadly stern at Lyle
    the judge inquired of him why

    had he slain all this beauty
    made so many families cry
    he felt an answer was his duty
    so this was Lyle’s cold reply

    for many years I’d been denied
    until my soul was heavy laden
    god knows how often I had tried
    to win the love of a fair young maiden

    I was so consumed with bitter grief
    that, though I’ve caused much pain and strife
    this was my only true relief
    to take from them their tender life

    as mama’s words rang in my head
    I’d cut out their precious part
    there’s more than one way, mama said
    to steal a lovely lady’s heart

    ~ ~ ~
    rob kistner © 2008

    Seasons

  • Suite of four haiku reflecting the seasons…

  • collage entitled “Four Seasons” by: rob kistner © 2007

    •  
    Seasons

    ~

     

    Spring

    (haiku)

    ~

    wings flutter gently

    spring breeze bends full flowered stems

    meadow dance begins

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Summer

    (haiku)

    ~

    green leaf on blue pond

    turns in golden summer sun

    red bird softly sings

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Fall

    (haiku)

    ~

    stalks lie down in fields

    arbors burst with ripened grape

    fall is on the land

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Winter

    (haiku)

    ~

    coarse lands cloaked in white

    lakes bejeweled in crystal

    winter’s dressing hand

    ~ ~ ~

     

    rob kistner © 2007

    _____________________

  • Click here to read more poetry at dVerse

    • The Sync

     

    The Sync

    •

    connection
    to make contact
    searching for the sync
    the heart of the matter
    in this solitary journey
    from womb to tomb

    a stranger
    on the bus of days
    seeking distraction
    chatting them up
    to suppress
    the voice of isolation

    immersed in the small talk
    of love
    and accomplishment
    to drown
    the incessant murmur
    of alienation

    the chant of abandonment
    ever there to remind
    that we board alone
    to make our way
    toward an enigmatic destination

    clinging
    to a vague vision
    of home

    to disembark
    as we began

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • collage entitled “The Sync” – by: rob kistner © 2011

    __________________

    • linked at Carry On Tuesday and Magpie Tales

    Scorched

     

    Scorched

    •

    the landscape
    losing its gild
    mottles
    in gunmetal grays

    fractured storm clouds
    churn
    in huddling menace

    brightened breezes
    that sizzled in the aspens
    build
    buffeted by the angry front
    thrashing
    into brittling winds

    the world
    tumbles towards darkness

    my heart
    shudders in deep shadow
    mourning love’s devastation

    scorching words
    bite and sting
    where they sizzle still
    blistering my careless tongue

    would that it rain
    drown the lands
    that I might
    turn my face to the sky
    flood my foolish mouth
    charred by regret
    with drenching waters
    of contrition

    to douse the cruel fire
    of that
    which should never have been said

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • collage entitled “Sorrow” – by: rob kistner © 2011

    ________________

    inked at Writer’s Island

    Machine Mind

    This post is offered in response to prompt #14 at We Write Poems,
    the August 9th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
    the August 11th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
    and prompt #65 at Carry On Tuesday.




    “…scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could,
    they didn’t stop to think if they should…”
    Dr. Ian Malcolm


    Machine Mind

    •

    you wink awake at morning’s light
    beckoning me to focused task
    prompting me of promise

    you collaborate
    in my keeping touch
    in work dispatched
    in thoughts transcribed
    in matters pure creative

    you are my portal into virtual space
    to probe mysteries
    the vast unknown

    the tool I wield
    to unearth facts
    dig the dirt
    to search for truth

    tightly spun
    within the web
    you tend my life
    make all cogs turn

    my instrument of whim
    device of my distraction
    are you my submissive
    or master of my will

    when you’ve surpassed my vision
    will you serve me still

    have I the power to shut you down
    turn my back
    walk away

    to truly let you keep

    in the deep subconscious
    does your machine mind
    really sleep

    • • •

    TechReGret

    (a lighthearted tanka)

    •

    my laptop’s frozen

    and my cell phone’s out of range

    it’s at these times when

    I think how life used to be

    hand-written letters have soul

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    _________________________

    • photorendered collage entitled: “Machine Mind” – by: rob kistner © 2010

    IN CLOSING: We live a in a world immersed, if not drowning, in technology. The idealistic and naive early vision was to create technology to serve us, make life easier, less complicated – but the joke is on us. We now serve the technology, and life is more complicated — traveling at a pace we struggle to keep up with. We’ve leveraged our peace of mind in the misguided pursuit of leisure. Is there a remedy? If we do not open a global dialog focused at finding ‘balance’, the situation will, I believe, resolve itself – and the world will not like, and may not survive, the ultimate solution.

    As James Martin, one of our great modern thinkers and author of the “The Meaning of the 21st Century” points out in his most optimistic and uplifting book, man stands on the threshold of either the greatest era in human history, or the end of life as we know it – the outcome rests in our hands.

    I wrote an essay back in 2007 which deals with humankind’s strange relationship with the technology we’ve created. You can click here if you would like to read it. …rob

    Burn

    …in response to the 13th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a piece I wrote inspired by Joni Michell’s album entitled “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter”. Embedded in this work is the title of every track that appears on that album / also for prompt #126 ‘Angel’ at One Single Impression…



    Burn

    •

    come to me
    talk to me otis
    and
    marlena
    reveal your mystery

    I am your brood
    sired by your seed
    bloodied
    from your womb

    whisper
    in a scorching breath
    tell me about
    the tenth world

    taunt me
    in scalded apparition

    tell me how
    to get to dreamland
    to cotton avenue
    on a hot off night
    back street in jericho

    tell me of the fires
    on paprika plains
    that consumed your souls
    in flames of hunger
    to lust
    for immortality

    made you dance
    at midnight
    wrapped in
    the silky veils of ardor
    on prurient
    smoldered embers

    I want to go
    I am ready

    an inferno burns
    inside me
    desire rages strong
    to ride the bliss of sin

    son of concupiscence
    I am
    your son

    your lifeblood
    courses through me
    hammers in my temples
    sets my heart ablaze

    impassioned
    I wil prowl
    the shadow’d haunts
    of jericho

    the dark places
    of the tenth world
    following your ghosts

    seeking
    don jaun’s reckless daughter
    my scarlet jezebel
    my nocturne angel
    to take me
    in a fever

    to whirl me ‘round
    to burn me down
    to ash

    to scatter me
    by moonlight

    forever
    in the winds
    of memory
    on those plains
    of ardor

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photorendered collage entitled “Dance of Ardor” by: rob kistner © 2010

    Anger – 3 Contemplations

    …I offer this 3-part contemplation on anger in response to the June 7th prompt at Big Tent Poetry…

    • the first poem is a free verse conceptual perspective on the essence of anger
    • the second is a poem I would like to share, which touches the primal anger I felt at the time of the tragic death of my 18-year-old son, Aaron — written shortly after the horrible event
    • the third is the pantoum which was directly suggested by this prompt — it is based on a poem I wrote while in the early stages of my grief, also regarding the raw, unfiltered anger I felt, and still feel occasionally, surrounding Aaron’s death



    Anger

    •

    love
    bruised

    crying out
    to be understood

    so loudly
    that it cannot hear

    frustrated
    that its capacity to feel

    is far greater
    than its ability to express

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    ______________________

    Primal

    •

    i remember well the day he died
    the searing pain
    that fueled my rage
    setting fire to the skies

    primal power

    giving life to sorrowed hatred
    sustaining me no food or sleep
    while i cursed the cruel heavens
    in ringing spite that toppled mountains

    and leveled to despair
    every mocking face of care
    reaching out to touch me
    saying how they understood

    they sure as hell — did not

    or they’d have never gotten near me
    they’d have given me vast berth
    for all i wanted was to strike them
    make them scream
    make them hurt

    i would have given him my life
    with little thought have taken yours
    for if my son could no longer live
    nor would anyone on this earth

    • • •

    rob kistner © 1995

    ______________________

    This Cannot Be

    •

    this cannot be the way his story ends
    his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
    this cannot be the horror fate intends
    if life you want mine now I do concede

    his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
    if debt is owed please I will make amends
    if life you want mine now I do concede
    hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends

    if debt is owed please I will make amends
    anger grips me like a poison seed
    hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
    my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed

    anger grips me like a poison seed
    god your cold and heartless name offends
    my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
    a blackness here within me now distends

    god your cold and heartless name offends
    hatred of you deep inside does breed
    a blackness here within me now distends
    upon my very essence it does feed

    hatred of you deep inside does breed
    cruel god is this the horror you intend
    upon my very essence it does feed
    this cannot be the way his story ends

    please tell me this is not the way his story ends

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • collage above entitled “Stages of Grief” by: rob kistner © 2010


    ______________________


    In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

    NaPoWriMo #18 – Human Arrogance

    This is my eighteenth post for National Poetry Month 2010
    • one free verse poem
    • one tanka

    ____________________________________

    • inspired by Irene’s day 18 read write poem prompt / and #49 at carry on tuesday

    ____________________________________


    …a thing of beauty is a joy forever, a captive wild soul — is a tragedy…


     

    Pacing

    •

    from rippled sinew black as midnight
    bores a stare of molten gold

    a furious but calm inferno
    searing deep to burn your soul

    I watch helpless this panther’s pace
    held captive in this foolish zoo

    cold eyes rivet snarled contempt
    unfathomed pools of quiet rage

    on this panther paces paces
    turns and paces back he paces

    graceful stride of brute resolve
    presses on to test the limit

    proud this captive soul just paces
    frustration turns anger retraces

    this brutal prison of false environ
    does not fool this mighty beast

    observe how he continues pacing
    instinct certain this is not home

    his piercing gaze fixed well beyond
    his suffered fate of cruel confine

    see the panther pacing pacing
    his nature steeled his spirit strong

    relentless sorrow wild longing
    drive on and on his constant stride

    this will not break his fierce resolve
    he tracks freedom he stalks life

    imprisoned he will forever pace
    and he will pace

    and he will die

    • • •

     

    ____________________________________


     

    Out Of Step

    •

    nature is a dance

    transcendent syncopation

    rhythmic side by side

    but the chorus line falters

    humankind is out of step

    • • •



    • poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

    …collage just above entitled “Nature’s Anger” by: rob kistner © 2006
    …panther image digitally rendered & edited by: rob kistner 2010 — base image source anonymous…

    ____________________________________

    …check out what’s prowling over at readwritepoem…

    NaPoWriMo #4 – Now / Time To Smile

    This is my fourth post for National Poetry Month 2010
    • one free verse poem
    • one haiku
    ____________________________________

    Nelle Lytle put forth a fascinating and challenging prompt at Read Write Prompt for day #4 of NaPoWriMo. We were to look at things inside out. At first I was perplexed. I kicked a number of ideas around and was hitting the wall, when it struck that inside out is a condition of perspective – a point from which things are viewed. You see one from the other.

    I started thinking about situations in which I view one from the other, when it hit me – time! I continually view the “other” aspect of time from where I am… looking at the past or future while being in the present. That’s all it took. My muse (and Ram Dass) carried me from there.

    I not only wrote a new poem, I created a new collage. Thanks Nelle! 😉

    ____________________________________




    …collage above entitled “Time” by: rob kistner © 2010…

     

    Now

    •

    the future — the past
    tomorrow — yesterday
    time’s not hard and fast
    moments slip away

    fretting what we miss
    we ponder destiny
    yet today is all there is
    ever was — will ever be

    days not yet arrived
    ones that slipped away
    not present in our lives
    there only is today

    can’t change what’s gone astray
    or know what is to come
    embrace what is this day
    stop running to and from

    forget the come and gone
    all the who what when and how
    don’t get lost looking beyond
    learn to truly be here – NOW

    • • •

    ________________________




     

    Time To Smile

    •

    turning clocks forward

    evenings last longer now

    so too will my smile

    • • •

    poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

    • graphic rendering of smiling clock configured and colorized by: rob kistner

    ____________________________________

    …for more poetic perspectives on NaPoWriMo 2010: readwritepoem…

    The Collector

     

    The Collector

    •

    this day as I journey
    I come upon a stranger
    standing by the road looking sad
    heavy box held in his arms
    clutched close to his breast

    he stares into my eyes expressionless
    his gaze stops me still
    fixes me in place

    his face is tired and drawn
    etched in withered worry

    when at last I move
    I draw close enough to see
    this sullen man is me

    everyone is born with some special talent
    he sighs
    I am a collector
    of tears shed in moonlight
    the pain of love’s betrayal
    the grief of empty lives

    he concludes
    and offers out his hands
    that open on the box

    he beckons me retrieve
    this container he protects

    filled with apprehension
    I reach and grasp the case
    lift it cautiously from his grip
    lay it gently at my feet

    it opens as I do
    slowly
    to reveal its strange contents

    three lone broken hearts


    mute with wonder I behold
    confused yet riveted
    I ponder haunted as I do
    then inquire of the meaning

    these are yours
    I am told

    created by your deeds
    cruelly left behind
    as coldly you moved on

    each belonged to one who trusted you
    a trust you did betray
    without a second thought
    love you tossed aside
    abandoned carelessly

    now the burden of this box
    is mine beyond the grave

    eyes lowered in fatigue he exhales

    it was on a road like this
    that it was passed to me
    I have carried it too long
    I am weary from the load

    looking into my eyes he points

    now you must bend and lift
    and clutch it to your breast
    to struggle with its weight
    until you pass it on

    searching the distance he goes on

    someday a stranger will approach
    over that horizon
    he will stop and stare
    transfixed by your presence

    you will charge him with this chest
    then he will lift and carry
    as I do
    in this cycle of forever

    for he too
    will be you

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo collage entitled “Broken Broken Broken” – by: rob kistner © 2010
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    …see other special talents at Carry On Tuesday…