11:30 pm and
I've spent my day
pondering
whether or not yesterday
will happen again
tommorrow.
Those memories,
lines beginning to
meld and blur,
jab sharp knives
of pleasure and uncertainty
into organs
long forgotten.
12:00 am and
the last half hour
has slipped through
my vice grip fingers.
And still I'm wondering
will yesterday
happen again
today.
- - -
Originally I wrote this with the idea that the subject hopes for a memory to happen again. My mom read it and then thought the complete opposite. She felt it was like the subject was dreading a memory. I guess it could really be taken either way.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."