52 lines
1.5 KiB
Text
52 lines
1.5 KiB
Text
|
school-mandated poetry: day 8 / ballad
|
||
|
|
2018-01-13
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
waiting under a forever blue sky
|
||
|
|
watching as all the younger girls scream "bye"
|
||
|
|
I would say "wish you here here"
|
||
|
|
but there are no postcards for sale
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
a silver wire to soon be around my finger
|
||
|
|
and the impression of your face against the summer clouds still lingers
|
||
|
|
the ancient question begs, "are you mine?
|
||
|
|
or is this all a lie?"
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
only purple is a unit here
|
||
|
|
not pink, which has dissolved into the blue clear
|
||
|
|
due to a lack of interest- and my shorts are gray
|
||
|
|
but they don't have to be shorts- they can just be gray
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
so say hello to your new lover for me
|
||
|
|
because by the time I get home tomorrow, I'm sure I'll see
|
||
|
|
that my home is empty
|
||
|
|
and my room full of crumpled sheets
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
the wedding tonight has been cancelled
|
||
|
|
one of the brides has been locked up in the sickest cell
|
||
|
|
you have twelve hours to make up your mind
|
||
|
|
she loves me, she loves me not- no end in sight
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
so now I'm splayed out on the jaded grass lawn
|
||
|
|
the stars are so lucky- there's always someone out there to fawn
|
||
|
|
they say that outdoors, food tastes a hell of a lot better
|
||
|
|
but then why is my stomach churning like the far-off weather?
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
little did I know, hence two years
|
||
|
|
I would be shedding tears
|
||
|
|
but of joy or fear, I cannot tell
|
||
|
|
I'm not a fortune teller or horoscope writer; I'm not here to sell
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
why does the sky have to be blue?
|
||
|
|
why not gray to reflect a burgeoning city's soot
|
||
|
|
or green like all the other damn trees here
|
||
|
|
just more trees everywhere
|
||
|
|
trees
|
||
|
|
trees
|
||
|
|
and more trees
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
|