My name is not important, however my mission is. I am sure I can come up with a better beginning to this story but then it wouldn't be the truth. Would it? An so it starts with Steven Anthony Willows. You can see his memorial here >> http://www.memorialsolutions.com/sitemaker/sites/shuler0/obit.cgi?user=steven-willows
and you can actually still buy his book here >> http://www.amazon.com/The-Fallen-Book-Between-Heaven/dp/159113580X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1401730355&sr=8-1&keywords=the+fallen+book+by+steven+willows
I have acquired his (as I call them) "lost" material from the depths of the cave. They were not actually lost, but dusty and somewhat forgotten. It was my daughter who gave me the idea to search for them. She had read The Fallen and wanted to read the sequel. I knew there were short stories and poetry that he had written but didn't know where they were. I even found a handwritten copy of the Nag Hammadi scrolls. He hand copied all the ancient texts! But why? There must have been a reason behind his madness. We all knew he was a tad bit eccentric but methodical in his ways. I intend to publish all the manuscripts that I have in my possession in hopes to better understand his thoughts. To understand the mind of a genius. To delve into the depths of his darkness. To remember.. To forget..
Here is the first installment of Steven's poetry.
The least dark of the writings to come...
Ode to the SUV
By Steven Willows
O monstrous SUV, thou art kin to a whale,
Thou, from whose presence the sun
Is blocked, like girls forced to wear a veil,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and lewd crimson,
They deplore the speeding laws with relish,
Like a pack of howling, writhing Huns
Who besieged Rome, furious, hellish,
Each like a malevolent tank, until
Thine American Dream can embellish
Your purchase over all the dark earth, and fill
The hungering world with red, white and blue
And with soldiers charging over the hill:
America, oh America, God
Shed his grace on thee, east of Eden, in Nod.
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