Erasmas

I sit with you, watching the oncoming storm roll in. Knowing that I don't want for it to begin. Seeing the destruction behind its gruesome face, Knowing what will start is in the end a losing race. So many times before, were you my shelter from a storm, Shielding me from weather, and keeping me from harm. And now see the snow, the sleet, and the rain, Wearing you away from me, causing you the pain. I scream out at the storm, but I cannot hear my voice, I beg for it to cease, to stop, or to take me as its choice. But it doesn't listen; it only keeps on coming, Rolling, shuddering, booming, and mind numbing. What's the u

Holding me in your arms, rocking me to sleep at night, Keeping me from whatever woke me in such a state of fright. Cooking me nuggets when you had planned on fish-sticks, Washing dirty clothes, dirty faces, and bleaching away ticks. Telling me I was handsome when I felt I was not, Feeling my forehead, then getting a washcloth when it was hot. Braving allergies to take me outside, and even for dogs, Showing me the wonders of life, from the clouds to the frogs. Letting me cry on you when I was treading through dark times, Reading a story about an Indian, a peach, or even a song that rhymes. Telling me that I need to look inside myself

He awoke in the early hours of the morning startled and confused. Still half asleep he glanced quickly about the small room to assess where he was and realized immediately that he must have drifted off in the middle of his studies. He was still in the temple's library and everyone had long since retired for the evening. Closing the heavy book that lay on the seemingly endless table in front of him, he yawned. The book's reverberant thud echoed off the stonewalled interior. It was only when he stood to replace the book amongst the rest of the thick, ancient, leather-bound volumes that he became fully awakened. It was only then that he heard th