Stories Never Die

A place from your past or childhood, one that you’re fond of, is destroyed.

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i travelled from afar to look once again at

a magical place from my childhood,

the birthplace of stories and dreams,

where imagination and creativity took flight,

never weighed down by commonsense.


my tiny kingdom had been destroyed

by progress.

i stood  on hot concrete,

staring incredulously at a large edifice of

glass like steel and steel like glass.

searching my memories,

i did not see this

artificial  monstrosity.

rather, reflected in the mirror like steel,

i saw a cluster of wild apple trees,

stunted and gnarled.

through the eyes of a child

these wild trees were a magical orchard,

created just for me.

i sat under the apple trees in the tall grass,

listening to a symphony of insects and birds,

watching stories unfold in the clouds.

it was a Garden of Eden.

for a creative child,

the perfect backdrop for imaginary tales with

apple banquets fit for a princess.

tales which progress

will never destroy.

I believe that

stories outlast cities.


part of our shared, collective consciousness,

living where neither rust nor mold can destroy them


stories live on in us.

Copyright 2014 Melanie Jean Juneau


2 thoughts on “Stories Never Die

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