Biography
I'm just expressing my feelings through poetry.
Samples
It wasn’t the sound of the train— The steady churn of its measured gears, Tracing a path too careful to question. It wasn’t the faceless operator, With a straight and simple track before him, So much weight behind, And so little left to decide. It wasn’t the half-hearted hovel of commerce, Where landlords balanced currency and obligation, Devoid of beauty, Devoid of trust. A filthy, wheeled office chair their throne, Their whips cracking without motion, Fingers unmoved. It wasn’t the cheap jug of drugstore wine, Round and familiar, Cradled like the embryo of my adulthood, Drained by a child pretending to wear The mask of an endless, upright forever. It was the past— Glossy, easy, painted bright, Gleaming like the first ride of a new bike. It was the unseen— Ever-present, fading, Lingering, Uninvited but never gone. It was childhood’s unbrushed hair, Now smoothed by backward glances, Made deliberate by the lens of memory. It was love scrawled in a classroom, Seemingly eternal, Carried in the crumpled texture of a misspelled letter. It was the hole in a thrift-store pocket, Big enough for a dumb girl’s hand, And a nervous boy’s trembling want. It was the lunch bell, Breaking apart the most important conversation, The one that never truly finished. But it wasn’t really anything. Because it still is. And it always will be. I still think, one day, I’ll see the future.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Do you want to be featured here? Submit your profile.