Tuesday, February 22, 2005

• I am about too tired to visit around tonight and wait on the service to decide to work or not.  After school I had an hour detention for bad, bad, people.  It was another 14 hour day, what can I say, but I made it through.

  Here is a poem for you to read and critique.  I worked on it for a long time.  Each represents a particular person in my life. 

  My Type

  by

  Cynthia

   

   

   

  I sense him.

  He is my lover.

  He sites on the curb by the highway of my life.

  He watches as I comb the tangles from my long, curling hair.

  Sometimes when the traffic of life becomes too jammed and snarled,

  he steps into the freeway,throws up his hands and demands

  that the furious pace subside,

  while I catch up and slow down.

   

  I feel him.

  He is my companion.

  He waits outside the circus tent of my life,

  and smiles as I maneuver my way into the lion's cage.

  Then as I lose my bravado and freeze,

  he reaches in and airlifts me from the lion's sharpened claws.

  The cage bars extend, and I slide outside the cage to breathe again.

  I know him.

  He is my friend.

  He shakes his head and pretends to ignore

  I am alphabetizing my life in nice, organized, clean, crossword rows.

  As I fill each square with a letter usinging indelible ink,

  He slide the bottle of white "cover up" to me without a work, but a smirk,

  and I begin again in neat, straight, wrong rows.

  I trust him.

   

   

  • 9:37 PM
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