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Thanksgiving is over
And all had a blast
The time with our family
Sure went by fast
The sink overflowing
The Turkey all gone
With a burp and a hiccup
There was a collective yawn
Sleepy and sullen
Towards home we skulk
Scramble and hurry
Work due Monday's a bulk
Burnt out and exhausted
Monday morning we'll pout
But only 13 more days
Then Christmas break and we're out! |
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| I dreamed
a' p' once
a day
so grey
I met
the old man
so rich in
ways of wise
and in the
forest we sat
he touched my
hand, gazed
'nto mine eyes
and off'red
the chance
to ask him
the hardest question
I knew already
my chosen
point to ponder
I toke a breath
and ask
is it far better
to be the girl
who knows
only a few things
of the world
but to a great
deepest and deeper extent
or is it far better
to be the girl
who knows
so many things
of the world
but to only a small
limited extent
he paused
he whistled
he cracked his old bony knuckles
and
he chuckled
child, i can
read your
heart.
you think
tis most noble
to be neither
and both.
you've chosen for
yourself a life
frustrating
struggling
unfulfilling
I rose
nodded adieu, respectful as could be
walked away
maybe he wasn't so wise after all.
[Can you tell? I felt in an old English mood. I dunno, it looks weird, but it sounds right to me when you say it or think it out loud.] |
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| I woke up with a poem in my head this morning. As soon as I became fully conscious, it was gone. I must've written it in N-REM. Props to Unconscious. Except... I wish I knew what the poem was.
--even-stevenly yours, etc.
note: Currently Reading is actually Currently Wanting. <3 Sabuda. |
| |
| "It was like... poem sex." |
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