A Shining Reflection: The Life of the Poet

By W. David McKellar

Come along for the adventure and the ride as we weave our way through this all-new dark collection of fresh poetry and short stories in A Shining Reflection straight to you from the desk of W. David McKellar.

Stay tuned for the upcoming sequel book, with the release of the inspirational collection entitled, 44 Planets, available soon and exclusively through Page Publishing (@PagePublishing.com) and browse the social media author’s page at https://www.facebook.com/WDavidMcKellar

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662456138

Book preview

The Written Works

It is hard yet, much harder than when imagined, to match the incomprehensible accomplishments of the prior generations.

Anything modern in current creation will always seem to be seen as inferior, inadequate, or irrelevant, and at times impertinent or disconnected. All we can do is do our best at present. Allow the work to live and to die enough deaths that it becomes invincible of critique and in of itself then unchallenged immortal—and there is when it rises to relevancy.

Brick by brick was the Great Wall built; the village expanded, and the castle fortress so fortified.

Defining and redefining itself in labor with every birth, with every death, and with every rejection by each test and trial.

Only to evolve into a mold of the very future—there where it is directly aimed.

Being watered and cared for as the lilies of the field, by the rains, as with the likeness of their own future generation of caretakers. Lest should it thirst, to wither away and die off in the ruins of only good intention and scatter away as the dust of predictive failure.

It be said, Rome wasn’t built in a day… yet how they watched as it burned so rather quickly? With its death and fall also came then; the confirmed immortalization in history.

The Great Pyramids, which never died in such dramatic fashion, became just as such. As the Empire eventually lie in ruins, but old age had withered them not entirely away. As rare their remains lie in legend but of mere tombs, so used for proper royalty burial grounds—whispering only of their past in heroic tales, frozen then in time. Further on repeated in reverence solely by their descendants and of their last remaining living mortals.

All of the generations of others which seemed inconsequential in those times were in actuality what provoked the rise of the future. The cities, countries, and continents of now were once seen also as inferior. Yet if they had lain down and died as well, we would never have seen such an inventive modernization nor then bore witness to any new works.

Rather than try and match the documented genius; that being incredulous of great inspiration to others, we should build rather on the genetic genius which lies within. As being patient and safe, though exquisite in thought, had never yet built forth an Empire.

Each must allow to follow their own adventure.

To go in a path already trodden down is a barren path where nothing new ever was nor discovered. To travel where inferiority goes, where is not risk, seems to only bring contentment to the unbridled arrogant confidence of the critics and of naysayers. Yet as you look back onto the paths with which they have chosen, to find their security within, seem they not to stand still in hesitation? And as the late of the season shall soon yet perish by the wayside just as such?

Perhaps then it seems not so perilous to venture out fearlessly, more precariously, wherein is much more the fun. And without doubt sustained in great challenge. Such so that you must allow them to stand still to wallow in the mire of their own past tombs. While you continue on to plan and move ahead and to forge forth to the future. If may be, should you to crash and burn, still you have moved in light years ahead of the hazards of futility and of incompacitable inherent inadequacy.

Therefore, when the flames damper down to but a smoldering of ashes you will still yet have withstood—and rounded a final corner of immortality…

For after all, in the end, you did it for you. Not for what someone had projected, shaped, framed, or pictured as you.

Legacy is singular and solemn, quite a solitary event just as the one who lies under in solitude, being the sole master of their own eternal decision. No one else being present nor accountable, and why is it we cannot simply grasp it?

Not one diamond had ever shone nor shined until it be breached of the rock. Not one winged creature had ever spread its wings and flown until it had shed of its shell and had escaped away the nest or the cocoon of normalcy and comfort.

And not one creator of great works yet had ever set down a tool, a pen, or a brush on the common advice of a better-connected, more pertinent, superior intellect. Nor sheathed the sword by choice when struck with being deprived of their own eternal Honor, which was inevitably at stake and been relevant all along.

A Nightmare’s Night

A dream to a nightmare…with sudden a fright, you jerk as awakened from deep in the night.

A bump, a sound, a flickering light; the sheet, the blanket, you pull them in tight!

A doorway away, a handle is turned? Your pillow now damp as the fever it burned.

You feel as awake, but again your sleep breathes. Eyes darting at wonders from behind their thin sheaths.

Restored and recovered in this bliss Delta sleep. But again you fell sinking, down long, dark, and deep.

A friend so close, now with another, you’d kept her before as imagined your lover.

She’d chosen instead of your own dearest brother as you screamed out aloud and you pled with dear mother.

How can it be? Is it always my fault? Your voice had thee raised at her grave, so distraught!

Awaken, awaken! To soothe my poor thought! From this circle, this cycle in madness has brought.

You see her there clearly, with skin oh so pale, and hear the same drawl from this dear mortal’s spell.

Gasped of you in great sorrow as your spirit again failed, and they all left together as if all was again well.

Try thee again to step off from the bed, but gravity pulls at your head as with lead.

Then your feet hit the ground