Another poem from Senior year, one that perhaps better shows why I don’t write poetry. I do like the rhythm though.
Whirling swirl down into the depths delirious,
Delicious drunken descent or rise.
Roll of the dice, we die or we fly, there’s more than goodbyes?
What we have dread, the laying in bed
at an alarming rate, no set time or date,
what dreams will come? free or horrid ones?
Dank, dark, demanding doom, a world of gloom?
Or big blue skies, loved ones flying, a world without crying?
Who knows what is true,
but if it’s anywhere I want to be there with you.
Let these dreams come, let them come,
just stay and dream with me.
For now, we breathe.
Nothing like a seventeen-year-old ruminating on the mortality… I think it has it’s moments, for sure, but some of it is just so forced. Also, fun fact, I read this piece for the boy’s speaking contest call-backs, and failed miserably. I forgot it halfway through.
I don’t know which is more awkward, that I read my own work, or that I forgot it on stage.
I was pretty pretentious then.
I think I’m a little better now.
Just a little.