Life's Story

The rain was cold and nipped the skin, The Thunder boisterous, And the Lightning un-disciplined. It teased the silver Guardian While the thunder spoke in a lion’s roar Of the approaching soul. The Guardian raised its short snout And the wistful soul, ignoring Lightning’s vexation, Graced the Guardian’s leathered nose. “I’m here for my story.” Lightning shattered the Earth And from the shattered Earth Was birthed glass shelves Who hands cradled precious Bounds of paper. The Guardian and the soul Wandered through the paper jungle Until the Guardian halted. “Your story is here. You must find it.” The soul passed his wistful fingers Through rugged covers Of royal blue And magnificent purple, Of jade and onyx, And of honey and blood. The soul selected white And revealed it to the Guardian Who felt unsure the soul had its story. “This is it? Are you sure? Have you rummaged Through the stories of adventure and romance, Or perhaps you wish more For peace than war? Peace is what everyone desires But none have the true desire to Plant and allow it enough growht Before it is chopped down by The axe of war. Warmongers and peacemakers Choose their stories here also, Though they comprehend nothing. If this is your story, then you have chosen Your life.” The jungle was consumed back into the womb Of its mother, leaving one of its children behind. The soul held the story, now his. There was nothing guaranteed. There were No chapters to skip, no last page to Turn to and spoil and rather sweet fruit. The silver Guardian raised A silent paw to the soul As he passed. Lightning and Thunder Resumed their hectic dance, Each strike and roar an extension of another Until they quieted and listened To the wails of a newborn child Beginning his first chapter In a white story.