Wordplay: The Reading Spot

the flight to Neverland... On a cold and rainy October night The pilot made haste for flight To his origin, ("Neverland", he said) And then soared into the night. It had been several years since The pilot left Neverland And although he seemed to move on The townspeople deemed him sad. He never spoke much about the place, Yet would often dream about His youthful years in its greens And the liveliest folk he'd never seen. His dreams gave off hues of grief But nought gave off his face, Whenever the young man would be asked On cue, his heart would race. He didn't have the brightest years Back in those spritely greens He lost more than since, has gained, And yet, there, he longs to be. A little while after his ascent, that day There came a rapping from behind When he ventured to see, who the causer was, Was appalled to see a mere child. A tousled boy he was, and nothing more; The astonished lent him a hand The pilot asked, "So, where to?" The boy softly said, ...

When the knives bond... "I couldn't help it, Dad. He triggered me.", said the thirteen year old boy, Jon. "And how you control your reactions determines type of man you'll become." "But-....it isn't fair." "Such is life. Welcome to the real world, kid." Jon felt his trigger growing yet again, and he tried using his fist-clenching method to overcome it. His mother would be upset if he had another outburst. In fact, the whole point of this camping night-out, she'd said, was to help him calm down, and reconcile with his father. "Pass me that can of sand, will ya'?" Andrew said to his son, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head. He'd been at it for three hours now...finding the perfect place, the perfect materials. He wanted the momental monument to be perfect; just like his. He grabbed the can from Jon, tipped off its lid, and started pouring the grains into the foundation pit. "Watch, Jon. The light...