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Karls (Karlene Jacobson) at Voices...
Head over for links to inspirational fiction.
by Beth LaBuff
An aging brick façade, sat decomposing on the lane,
Held a rusty pock-marked door that was weather-beaten, stained.
Inside, a single dangling bulb launched shadows in a hall
That pointed to a doorway, set mid-center on the wall.
Inside the room, Sir Abram toiled while fifty years accrued,
His livelihood for fifty more if wishing stars held true.
Sparse furnishings—a single desk presided o’er the space.
“Twas daily here, Sir Abram’s methodology took place.
The walls and ceiling of this room were painted midnight blue
With tiny starlight pinpoints plotted—prompting easy view.
Beside each tiny stellar point, in pristine script of white,
The name he’d chosen to bestow upon that distant light.
A list each morn, with newest stars was tacked up in the hall,
And by day’s end, each star was named and charted on his wall.
He’d satisfaction in the fact that each star known to man
Had carefully received a name by his own thoughtful plan.
Each working day Sir Abram rambled down that shambled lane,
Regenerated once again inside his starred domain.
As father with his children, he recited starry names,
Then when at rest, sat at his desk, a job well-done—acclaimed.
At mid-point of the fifty-second year of his employment,
A shadow loomed that dimmed his light and halted his enjoyment.
It seemed a ruthless act, to slide a pink slip ‘neath his door,
But there it lay, a bearer of bad tidings on the floor.
“The Appellator, Bureau Office, Stellar Appellations,
We hereby give you notice of our budget lacerations.
For due to lack of funding, we inform you to our sorrow,
We’re shutting down this office; it’s effective on the morrow.”
So voila! Unemployment, his reward for fifty years!
This pink slip proclamation predicated life to veer,
At workday’s end, he offed the lights— symbolic— darkened-day.
But satisfied each star was named, he sadly trod away.
Despite his melancholiness— new stars that offer light,
Though still unnamed, regardless, go on shining just as bright.
And if uncharted nor assessed—the distance from our sun,
These unnamed stars, unfathomed lights—still have been named by One.
He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.
Look up at the heavens and count the stars...So shall your offspring be.
© Beth LaBuff -- January 2012