OUT YONDER<\/p>\n
Hours, days, years, move too quickly,
\nas I endlessly try to befriend the hands of time.
\nBeseeching it, bargaining, pleading, placating, but to no avail.
\nTime is not a mortal’s friend. We are bound by it, bound to it –
\nan infinite construct that we mark out our days by,
\nturning the present into a past memory with a blink of an eye.
\nNothing is forever – even if we desire it.<\/p>\n
Yesterday, I was a little girl, playing in the magical land of ‘Out Yonder’,
\na circular field beyond my Papa’s backyard.
\nThe grassy field surrounded by giant Sentry’s, rooted arm against arm,
\ntheir flowing hair, green, red, and brown, billowing in the wind and flickering wildly against the sunset.<\/p>\n
Before I knew what fairytales were, I was twirling with the fairies,
\nchasing them in and out of the Sentry’s abode.
\nMy Papa’s laughter filling the air, mixing with mine,
\nas fairy dust rained down from the ebony sky.
\nMagical explosions burst beside the moon, lighting up the field of fairies,
\nas I ran into the arms of my Papa.<\/p>\n
Before I knew what Kings were, my Papa was a King.
\nA King with a face that exuded love,
\nas if it were a tangible bubble that could be held.
\nHis laughter always contagious, his embrace always warm and safe.
\nAnd when he said, “Go play out yonder”,
\nI excitedly ran to the field, still expecting to see my fairies,
\nand my giant guards, not truly knowing what ‘out yonder’ meant.<\/p>\n
It was the beginning and the end of feeling carefree, of innocence.
\nBack when the sun could kiss my skin and I wouldn’t burn.
\nWhen the Texas warmth was my joyous evening blanket.
\nWhen I stared at the stars and dreamt of flying into their depths,
\nto the moon, and to Mars.
\nBack when fantasy was a six year old’s reality,
\nand everything made sense in that illogical world,
\nbefore the darkest of nightmares became my reality.<\/p>\n
But I didn’t let go of the fairies I danced with,
\nor the trees I believed were watching over me,
\nas if they were Angels in disguise.
\nI didn’t let go of the stars, or the moon, or of Mars.
\nAnd I never let go of my Papa, his laughter, and his love.
\nI never let go of his hand, even when exiled to another world.
\nI constantly looked for other ‘out yonder’s’, but never found one.<\/p>\n
So I waited. And prayed. And waited. And prayed.
\nUntil the day I would return to my Papa\u00a0and his magical field.
\nThat day never came, despite the valley, and peaks, and seas I travelled.
\nAt ten, I said “see you soon, Papa!”, the Texas crickets singing their mating song.
\nTwelve years later, I looked into the New York City sky and said, “Goodbye, Papa. Until it’s my turn,” the ocean’s tide breaking against a jetty.<\/p>\n
Magic disappeared too many lifetimes ago, yet I still look for it
\nin every bursting firework, in every night sky,
\nin every lightning bug,\u00a0in every giant tree that waves in the wind.
\nBut I’ve yet to find anything close.
\nIt’s a lifetime later and when I look up into the Texas sky,
\nit’s completely unfamiliar. I see nothing happy from my childhood.<\/p>\n
The magic is gone because my Papa is gone.
\nSo I envision the New York City Skyline and I think of my Papa.
\nI smile, knowing he would be proud and that he loved me.
\nIn all my travels, I’ve never been back to that once magical field.
\nI was just a child and I don’t know where it is.
\nSo like Atlantis, my Papa’s ‘Out Yonder’ is still a mystery.
\nBut he is forever with me.<\/p>\n
— Saskia Lynge \/ Hour 5<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
OUT YONDER Hours, days, years, move too quickly, as I endlessly try to befriend the hands of time. Beseeching it, bargaining, pleading, placating, but to no avail. Time is not a mortal’s friend. We are bound by it, bound to it – an infinite construct…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":812,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11,441],"tags":[2454,2455,2236,2453,2456,2450,2451,2452,2457,1614,23,191,31,489,410,238,115,477],"class_list":["post-36701","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem","category-poetry-prompt-responses","tag-fairies","tag-fields","tag-hour5","tag-nyc","tag-nycsky","tag-outyonder","tag-papa","tag-texas","tag-texassky","tag-fantasy","tag-life","tag-loss","tag-love","tag-mars","tag-memories","tag-nightmares","tag-reality","tag-stars"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36701","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/812"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=36701"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36701\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":37774,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36701\/revisions\/37774"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=36701"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=36701"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=36701"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}