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Wesley James Beard, Jr.

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Spring, TX, US

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Caustic Dreams

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.



I saw death,
and death was a child,
unborn.
A child that never saw the light of day,
one that never breathed on it's own,
one that never felt it's mother's love,
it's father's touch,
a hug,
a kiss,
or the glow of a smile.
I saw death,
and death reached out,
grasped my heart,
squeezed,
and squeezed some more,
until tears came to my eyes,
and I cried out in pain.
I saw death,
and death lay in a coffin,
pale,
plastered with make-up,
wearing a fancy dress,
and the rictus of a smile,
permanent and forever.
I saw death,
and it's form belied it's function.
Love died,
hate took it's place,
a family was torn asunder,
and two kids fell in the chasm it made.
I saw death,
and death looked me in the eye,
smiled,
and walked away,
leaving me lifeless,
empty,
torn,
broken,
Alive,
unwanted,
even by death itself.


Untitled

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.

This Son Of Mine

Was it yesterday
when he was born,
and I held him for the first time?
Was it only yesterday
when first his eyes looked into mine?
Could it be,
how can it be,
sixteen years gone by,
and yet still seem but a day ago,
that first I loved this son of mine?


To Say The Simple Things

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.

Sometimes
when I'm around you,
I'm at a loss for words.
I can't say
all those beautiful things
that other people say.
I can't tell you
how I love your hair,
the way you brush it,
the way you wash it,
the way you wear it
on any given day.
I can't tell you
how your eyes transfix me,
or that I have to look away
when they meet mine,
before I act the utter fool.
I can't explain
how I hang
on your every word,
smile,
and gesture.
I can't say the simple things,
like I love you,
God how I love you,
or speak at all,
when I'm feeling this way.
I can't show you the things
I want you to see,
I can't breathe,
I can't move,
except to run away.
I can't be an adult
because the child within me
is so bubbly with love.
I love you as if there was never anything else to do,
as if tomorrow would never come,
and yesterday was always today.
I love you so warmly,
and deeply,
with every fiber of my being,
and if I could do but one thing,
I'd chose to tell you so.


The Kids

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.

Small wonder
that things aren't the same anymore.
I mean,
with the kids doing their own thing now.
Mom and Dad are part of the past now.
They are the ancient soothsayers
whose knowledge is far surpassed
by the wiser,
smarter,
kids.
The kids,
follicles of growth.
Progeny gone wild.
I pity the old.

The old.
The you and me.
The parents that did their damnedest
to nurture and protect,
to imbue,
to prepare them for the reality of living.
We didn't fail.
We just ceased to grow.
At least,
that's what the kids think.
We stopped expanding.
Became stagnant.
And the kids left us stuck in the miasma of age,
while they grew with the exuberance,
the immortality of youth.

The kids.
Leonine novices,
stylish parvenu,
forgetting their roots.


For Terry

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.

While walking in the sunshine,
reveling in the warmth of its rays,
I thought about the love we share,
and how blessed I am,
with you as part of my days.

It seems I've always needed you,
and loving you was as natural as day and night.
I can't imagine anything different,
and wouldn't want to,
what we have is so right.

And its not just loving you,
that's so easy to do.
It's the friendship,
the companionship,
the sharing of our souls.

I think I've always loved you,
even before we met.
You were Mariah,
and the Whip-poor-will calling his love.
You were Mona Lisa's smile,
the star that splashed across the midnight sky,
the dream that every person has.

You are the way of my life,
you are my friend,
my companion,
my Wife.


Lost Memories

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.

I couldn't remember
the birthdays.
the anniversaries,
the holidays,
or special events.
I couldn't remember
the days,
so long ago,
when first we met,
courted,
and married.
I forgot the parties,
the trips,
the vacations,
the good,
the bad,
the in-between.
I forgot all the days
of just sitting together,
looking,
talking,
touching,
of being just you and I.
But now you're gone,
and all I have left
are the things I forgot.
The memories
I'm desperately trying to remember.


Those Days Are Gone

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.

When I was young and days were fun,
when yesterdays faded fast,
today is all there was,
and tomorrow was something for adults,
I never dreamed I'd have to face reality.

When girlfriend prayers were most important,
church was a social event,
soft-drinks were better than beer,
and dancing in the grass on summer nights
was life itself,

When days at the beach,
drive-in dates,
Frost Top's juke box
and holding hands made days complete,
I never thought there'd be more than that.

When boyhood ended,
girls became women,
graduation was over,
Frost-top closed it's doors
and tomorrow had come.

Those days were gone.
Memories of a past
that was life itself,
of a time that was idyllic and free,
dreams of the child inside of me.


Washing Her Face

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.

She never liked me to watch her
clean her face.
She said
it was like having someone watch
as your soul was stripped
to it's bare essentials.
First she'd brush her hair,
then pull it back,
holding it from her face with a plastic band.
Then,
when she wore them,
the eyelashes came off,
the mascara,
and the makeup,
in it's various layers.
The lipstick
she saved for last,
as if it was the final desecration.
She'd wash her face then,
with the special soap she bought,
slowly,
gently,
as if savoring the pleasure.
She never liked me to watch her
clean her face,
but I secretly spy,
every chance I get,
through the partially open door.
I watch,
as chameleon like
she wipes away the day
and becomes the woman,
I so love.


Rain

by

Wesley James Beard, Jr.

Rain.
God-forsaken,
bleak,
bleary,
rain,
befogging the air
as thoughts of you
befog my mind.
Harder it comes,
wind-driven,
thick,
viscous drops,
splattering against my face,
stinging me with their insolent,
uncaring,
selfish manner,
much as you,
in your self-contained,
self-preserving,
self-centered world,
denies all but that
which is an achievement for self;
denies me,
after my being fulfilled your need;
denies that which I gave freely,
driving it pain-riddled
into the depths of my soul.