The Ballad of Donegan Lard

[bworldwidedotcom]

Donegan Lard, being totally diligent in all methods of application, found himself.

One day, while he was running in jeans around his neighborhood, he carefully noticed that his speed of running increased as he drew nigh unto the curb, so that is what he remained doing for the entire session of his run. Picture this: Donegan Lard with intense face; jeans and white t-shirt, black combat boots, goatee, running, striving, grimacing through the neighborhood on a sunny afternoon, all the children of the place looking on in strange fascination at the man who ran so intensely in the noon-day sun - clad in such a strange manner. Why a man would so occupy himself - when the world lay at his doorstep daily - was the central point of question for all who did gaze upon Donegan Lard that day.

The neighborhood was usual. Nothing about it that we would desire it for our own homes. Donegan Lard was the most intense man on the block. He indulged in gain and profit, putting his innermost self to almost any work that would employ him. Yet, his lazy thoughts and strong arms seldom had care of those around him. He was discerning and wise - but not so wise as to never be caught in craftiness.

Donegan Lard's personal quest was fixed, and found it's whole essense at irrevocable emnity with those who sought to conform his oblong and varied character. His opponents were wild, wide and not typical, yet they formally rose against him at any opportunity. This caused Donegan Lard to remain engaged at constant recalibrations within. In one week, it was not unsual or extra-ordinary that Donegan Lard should become exceeding crestfallen, and all at once become plunged into the bleakest of states. Once cast down so low, Donegan Lard would often cry aloud into the wilds of his painful thoughts. These afflictions and divers torments were to the banal amusement of his bland yet potent adversaries, who many times joined hand in hand in their efforts to vanquish Donegan Lard. Once, on a lark, Donegan Lard played in the Community Sand-Lot; only to be exposed for placing an item of bitter and unsavory virtue slightly below the sand in the hopes that it might spring up and defile many. For this abstract offense, the assembly of people in the neighborhood gathered themselves in the Public Pasture, and sent Squad 17 to gather Donegan Lard into their midst. There, in the Public Pasture, Donegan was disciplined via the rude application of dirt unto his left trouser leg whilst his brow was beaten lightly, heaving his ears to and fro with loud sounds. Donegan Lard repented of his iniquity and cast himself into his humble house for three score days and a fortnight, hoping that his self-flagellations would please the neighbors and thus regain his standing as Elaborate & Distinct Champion in the Chancery Brotherhood.

The day that we found Donegan Lard running through the intersecting streets of the place, clad in odd attire, was a watershed day for us all. For on that day, Donegan Lard no more needed to repent of his evil, for he had found forgiveness and a promise that he should walk in newness of fortune, not in the dead ways in which he had been found. On that day, Donegan Lard lived not so as to please an apparent Brotherhood, for he saw with infinite finality the vanity of their works. There was to be no more of the vibrant complications flavored with dour sensibilities, the rapid purchase of splendid occasional pieces for any room of the house.

No, his seemingly rebellious runnings about was not done in the spirit of spite or malice, but in elaborate and funny celebration of the freedom he had found, having searched these long years through vague and terrible dungeons of personal gloom.

[AREMINGTONSEDGE]

Thanks for sharing your writing and your music! Rocky