(a story from my life...)
Another one of my works, included in my book POISON PEARLS, is The Skeleton, which should be of special interest since everything in it is related directly from my own experiences as I traveled around the country, mostly as a hitch hiker during the late 60's and early 70's. My disability prevented me from driving until I was 27, but that didn't stop me from leaving home and becoming my own man. The skeletal remains that I describe were found by me in 1996 when I was hiking alone through the woods on the Olympic The Skeleton The thought occurs again... That those skeletal remains Could have been my good friend Lynn, If she had been with me Like she wanted to be... Then again they could be mine, Lost in the woods without a sign, If I hadn't turned about and spurned That Redneck's crude advance, Telling him he had no chance, Backing my statement with my fist So that he understood the gist That there was no doubt he would let me out. I was the one that got away, Sadly, that's all I can say, For he was a predator And he probably found more Acquiescent prey on another day, Who allowed him to have his way, Though it led to an early grave... And all the interesting things That I had seen and places I had been. She wanted badly to come along, Not knowing how it could go wrong... For there were other things I had seen, That told me of what could've been And this skeleton was only one Of the ways our trip could have ended For the girl who I had befriended. As a hitch hiker I had found That the roadside abounds With sad stories and mute testimony To tales of Tragedy Ending in Brutality... These bones were with a bloody t-shirt, lying near them in the dirt... Of other clothing there was nothing... Then there were the cords that bind... Recognizable... From Venetian blinds... Beautiful, bouncy, buxom and blonde, Until some trucker wanted to fuck her And he had a gun or a knife... To fight could be worth your life... I'd seen sad things by the roadside, But this time someone had died. The bones weren't complete-they had no feet, The head and hands were also missing And no trace of them was to be seen. By roadsides other than here, Torn clothing and a child's brassiere That I had found lying on the ground Were an open book that spoke volumes Of how something wicked this way comes, But never of Death and Mutilation, Following naked Humiliation... Forced to endure cruel torture, Leaving only bones to tell the tale Of a twisted mind from beyond the pale. I've lost touch with It's been years since when She tried eagerly to accompany me, Those times that I ventured out And managed to travel about. With my duffel and my thumb, I went out and saw the nation, The But now that's long over And these bones are a sober Reminder of days long past, When we thought youth would last Forever and we never Thought that we could possibly Meet Death and die horribly Much as I'd have liked her to come, I'm glad that she stayed at home. I said, "NO!", she couldn't go and so Scattered amongst these stones Are someone else's bones... Karl Stuart Kline, Approx 3AM, All three of my books are currently available through most online book outlets or they can be ordered directly from my publisher at a discount. The links are: Poison Pearls... Going Without Peggy... |
