The Hymn of Wilford Larouse (New Fiction)

Ron Koppelberger

The Hymn of Wilford LarouseRugged and in sensual ramshackles, humble in nighttime betrothal, the western ray and the backwoods tumble of survival and fascinating revolt, gave Willford Larouse a moment, a thankful moment of reason and a suggestion of sanity.
He found the substance of soul and in naive command he sang his hymn in pain and blood, to his sweet Rio Madson Larouse. He uttered and sang in subtle prelude to the miracle of loves gained in losses of cold dire agony, in desert sands and cactus bloom the yielded life, bowing in barter for the ravages of a wild decree; he cradled his love alone in folded arms by the pallor of death, desolate and abandoned near the center of scorched earth and breaths of bedlam, he sang the hymn,

“Defy the silhouette of fury

And the shallows of life hurried,

Strange, rare and in difference,

In blessed sufferance of saints and the confessors

Of current hours and sun baked covenant,

Store the soul of care and

Embrace only if you dare

The charm of notions in forever and sweet revolt,

Return the bride in bloom

Return the mystery of this hold,

Return life to the cold flow of flesh and

In balance we shall rest, oh return my love

In the name of heaven above!”

Wilford advised the pallor of his sweet Rio with a kiss and the healing witness of a single tear as the spirits of evanescent delight drew close. The immigrant wanderings of chance celebrated his wife and gave her season the will to be. She inhaled and in delicate care touched the countenance of Wilford Larouse.
He found passion and a reason to be in the concern of angels and the miracle of life and boundless love.
“Thank god!” he sang to the angels above.