Sestina
Here's the spot for your sestina. Six is the magic number - 6 stanzas of 6 lines each, ending with the same 6 words in rotation, followed by a three line envoy that uses all 6 words. Here's a sample.
posted by Ms. Clapp @ 10:09 AM
26 comments
26 Comments:
Sand, Salt, and Sun
By Samantha Saggese
My eyes are blinded by the hot summer sun;
I realize quickly I never want it to end.
The cool green waves of an unknown beach
Come into shore and splash onto my feet.
A bonfire crackles between my circle of friends
And I run back to them, feeling so at home.
My parents question why I’m never at home.
I tell them, why stay in when I can be in the sun?
I’d much rather be on an adventure with my friends.
They just roll their eyes, deciding the conversation should end.
Freedom granted, I lace my favorite sandals onto my feet
And race with my towel over to the beach.
There’s a huge assemblage of rocks hidden behind Nahant beach
That my group of friends has made our new home.
I always bring extra sneakers to protect my feet,
And a fat tub of sun block to keep safe from the sun,
Because I know I’ll be staying there until the end
Of a long day, jumping off rocks with my friends.
Toasted marshmallows are a favorite amongst my friends.
We make them over newspaper fires at our own secret beach,
Toasting, toasting, until every sparkle reaches its end.
Even more I realize that the outdoors is now my home,
And as soon as it is dark I begin to miss the sun,
Because suddenly the sand is cool under my feet.
The first to check the water is always my feet
Because we all know I’m the bravest of my friends.
The water of the reservoir is warmed by the sun
As we hop into the dangerous fresh water on a day without the beach.
Although this is where snapping turtles make their home,
We continue to swim there until no end.
It seems so unreal when the summer comes to an end.
Everyday spent doing something new with my friends;
By the end of August, I have more than one home
And many blisters on the bottom of my feet.
As I say one final goodbye to the beach,
I soak in the last remnants of the summer sun.
The end is near and autumn leaves cannot compete with the sun,
Nor will my feet feel anymore happy than burning at the beach,
Goodbyes are tough, but I know that I always have a home with my friends.
Us and a Boat
by Kaela Bryan
Looking up, we see the sky.
And looking out, we see the blue.
We are so happy with the way we sail,
And with the way we pull the ropes,
And with the way the wind
Whips us forward, like we're a bird.
We always feel like a bird
As we float higher and higher in the sky,
Feeling the changes in the wind,
Every now and again cooling off in the blue.
Steering our rudder, pulling and feeding our ropes.
We always fly when we sail.
Before, though, we didn't know how to sail.
Then one day we wondered how it'd feel to be a bird;
Is there a way to fly and escape our walls and ropes?
The obvious answer was to try to find the sky,
And how better to do this than to follow the blue?
So we went out and let ourselves be taken by Summer's wind.
To our amazement and glee we were led by the wind
To a place where we could learn to sail;
Where the docks ended the began the blue.
And our eyes, looking out, saw another soaring bird.
So beautiful and clear was the sky
That we couldn't help but grab the ropes.
Now we know how to cut many ropes
Because now we know how to be swept away by the wind.
All we had to do was look for the sky
And we found out how to sail.
And every summer we continue to be like a bird
That dips its wing-tips into the blue.
Every year it seems like the blue
Keeps growing, and we keep going further out with the wind.
And we never forget how to be like a bird,
Even when it seems unyielding grow our ropes.
We will never forget how to sail
Outside in that glistening blue.
Soon the blue is cold and soon beckon some new ropes,
And the bird we became must once again leave the sky.
But we know that we will sail another day, and we know that
we will afresh feel that wind.
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Golf Green
By Monika Bashllari
As we walk out of the car, we gaze up at the beautiful blue sky,
down at the dazzling green grass
and across to the sparkling ponds.
Every summer we walk together on the greens, holding hands.
We stop at each hole, where you remind me which club to use.
We stop at each hole, where you remind me all the rules.
But sometimes, we’re able to bend those rules.
If I miss one or shank one towards the left, you let me re-do it
without even marking the score down.
You teach me everything that you know and
I wish you knew how much I appreciate it.
I am so grateful for these moments together.
These are the most memorable moments together,
The ones that I’ll never forget as we part our own ways.
This summer will be the last one where we can walk out of our cars,
Gaze up at the beautiful blue sky,
Down at the dazzling green grass,
And across to the sparkling green ponds.
And when I walk alone by these ponds
This is going to take some getting used to.
I’m going to need some time.
I’ll remember all the memories we made together.
All the times we talked about growing up and moving out west
to own the greens.
No matter where we went in life, we’d always end up
challenging each other on the greens.
But the memories are not just blurs of a hole anymore.
We met up at the old Country Club that day.
Since then we haven’t let go.
We knew this time that we couldn’t let go.
As we walk out of the car, we didn’t let go.
We gazed up at the beautiful blue sky,
down at the dazzling green grass
and across to the sparkling ponds.
Walking through the greens holding hands.
We stop at each hole, where we were reminded of the past
Why would we want to let go? We broke all the rules together.
We walked through the sparkling ponds together
and talked about the past together.
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The Fire
By Carlos Perez
In my pajamas I stared at the fire;
I gazed at it's beauty and almighty power
As we and the strangers gathered around it.
We used the fire to battle the cold
Which ironically battled the fire that took our home.
As we hundled together the fire became our strength.
We began to move quickly as cold grew in strength.
On our journey we could not carry the fire
As we searched for a new home-
Not one that will give us respect and power,
But one that will hide us especially from the cold.
I knew then that we all had the hope to find it.
At last! We had found it!
An abandoned camp that will shelter us till we regain our strength.
My father held on to me to protect me from the cold.
He became my only hope and fire.
I remembered my mother then and how I wanted the power
To go back and save her and go back home.
I wished we were home,
But my father said we must forget about it.
That we must hide from Hitler's power.
My father's words only boosted my strength
As my veins burned with fire.
Why must the world be so cold?
We began to move foward through the cold
And once again I felt sick for home.
During the cold winds our hearts began to lose fire
As we moved through it.
My father's heart gives up it's strength,
And I am left alone without my father's love and power.
It was then I created my own source of power
To live my life and fight the cold.
Revenge my strength,
My life, my new home.
Nothing will stop it.
Revenge became my fire.
The power of my revenge will keep me alive as I forget about my home.
The cold world will suffer from my revenge and die by it.
Revenge is my strength! Revenge is my almighty fire!
Contentment
by Jean Messeroux
Some do it
For the fame
Wishing to please people
Their purpose
Is not money or satisfaction
But popularity
The love of money is the root of all evil, but what's worse is popularity
Folly lies in those who seek it
They don't know that in it there is no satisfaction
Just the glow of fame
They lost their purpose
Striving to please people
Vain are these people
Who thirst for popularity
Life no longer has a purpose
They question whether there is substance in it
Yet no concern for this, only fame
In which there is no satisfaction
Where is satisfaction?
It is not in pleasing people
Nor in fortune or fame
Or popularity
If not in these things, then where is it?
What is our purpose?
Many are confused about their purpose
And struggle to achieve satisfaction
They search for how and where to get it
Millions of people
Money and popularity
Wealth and fame
The biggest lie lies in wealth and fame
They won't bring satisfaction
Nor will popularity
But in simplicity is satisfaction
Which can be obtained by all people
Simplify to get it
So don't do it for popularity
As it deceives many people
Who are allured by it
Mr.Stevenson's Dog
by: J. Scib
Mr. Stevenson was never considered decent,
He dressed in his shade-less windows and never censored his speech when walking his dog.
Oh, but Mr. Stevenson’s dog! The savage beast would transform
Into a even more savage werewolf, empty
Of morals but Stevenson would let it remain
Dangerously in The Public.
It was not Stevenson who would worry but The Public.
This deranged dog with it’s mental master did not pretend to be decent,
They would not remain
In isolation. They went out and as if on a schedule would transform
Into his soulless self. His desires no longer empty
But filled with the savage desires of a wolf dog.
I shouldn’t blame the dog,
It wasn’t him that made himself an animal, was The Public?
Turning him into a Frankenstein for their entertainment or is this accusation empty?
It may not be empty but it definitely is not decent.
To allow the mutt to transform
Is to allow Dr. Jekyll to become Mr. Hyde and let the silly facade to remain.
Allowing this canine to remain
Near children, is a crime against humanity. It is evidence of man-made evil as it goes to transform
Into the beast, that was made in The Public’s image.
So long have we labeled them indecent we never questioned whether we were decent.
But to say we’ll try to change is a promise that is empty.
On my soapbox I make this plea, only to be met with eyes as empty
As Mr. Stevenson’s son’s room and that’s how they both will remain.
That’s not decent.
That senile dog, keeps him going, that dog
Keeps The Public at bay. The Public
Is what transforms. Into a savage mob they transform.
Like a caterpillar’s metamorphosis into butterfly The Public transform
Into a mass of destruction. Their passion becomes an empty
Void as they realize they: The Public
Are the enemy, and that is what they will remain.
That dastardly dog
Now is the one who is decent.
The Public’s motives become empty and are no longer decent,
Causing the dog
To transform. The poles are reversed and this is how it will remain.
To The Girl That Was My Best Friend
Jenna Delaney
With you I never minded the rain,
Even if it seeped into my sneakers.
I’d take them off anyway when we got to your room.
I’d lie there, reading things on your walls that would make me laugh,
Listening to your music.
Do you remember?
There was this one time that I’ll always remember:
When we, and the boys, got caught in the rain.
I spent an hour getting ready in your room
And you let me borrow your sneakers.
When I kissed him for the first time, I heard you laugh,
But mostly my brain filled that moment with music.
I can connect every moment we spent together with music.
With every image of our friendship, there’s a song I remember:
The song we danced to in the rain,
The lyrics we wrote on our sneakers,
All these moments that still make me laugh
And make me miss your room.
My house is a dungeon compared to your room.
I miss the way it felt to be there, but I can still remember.
I remember the way the window-sill was damp with rain
And how we could never be in there without playing music
And how it had a way of eating sneakers.
The way things got lost in there always made me laugh.
Even when things got hard, we found a reason to laugh.
When girls did stupid girl things, we drowned them out with the music
For the choreography that I wish I could remember.
I almost miss that room,
With the glass ceiling that let us see the rain
And where everyone had to take off their sneakers.
Even now, I’m wearing your old sneakers.
The last place I saw you was in the smelly, smoky room,
Filled with people who couldn’t talk, just laugh.
And don’t you remember,
How the sound of the music
Became one with the rain?
I’ll always remember the serenity of your chaotic room
And the way you killed good music with your voice, but also how it made me laugh.
Thanks for being my friend and for making me not afraid to wear my sneakers in the rain.
The Last Night
I have to sleep in my bed on the last night.
The day will be spent with friends,
and the night with dreams.
My curfew wont matter like it did before,
on the nights I'd have to rush
around just to make it home.
I will have a new place to call home.
There will be no family after that one night.
Why should I grow up now? Why rush?
At least I know I'll be surrounded by friends,
though none of them were in my life before.
We all had very similar dreams.
I know for sure that I will follow my dreams,
but it will be hard when I am so far from home.
My goals could be different from before
I changed my life on that August night.
I'm eager to find spontaneity in friends,
because nothing can beat that pure fresh rush.
I dont feel the need to rush
to chase after my dreams.
My first priority is my current friends:
the ones that'll be waiting for me back home.
I look forward to laughing with them every summer night.
I want to preserve the memories from nights before.
I dont want things to be different from before
everyone went home to rush
and pack up that night.
I know in my dreams
is where I'll be at home
laughing with all my friends.
With all my new friends
I will go to the train to rush
to Oakland, to my home.
I will prove to them before
I go that my dreams
are more than on that last night.
I still wont see the need to rush
when my expanding dreams
are more attainable each night.
The Traveling Guitar
By Matt
What is this, coffee doing near my guitar?
Where did I place my pick?
When was the last time I changed my strings
I just love when we all get into the music
This is the only time no one complains about the sound
And it will all follow with applause.
The encore always follows the applause
When I get to go back out and play guitar
Is that really how great we sound?
Or is it just because I threw someone my pick
I do hope we make good music
Crap. I just broke my strings
Does anyone have any extra strings?
Let’s have the audience keep beat with applause
In a way we are all making music
I sure do love this Guitar
In every note that I Pick
It makes the sweetest Sound
Turn up the treble and I will get the perfect sound
Just make sure I’ve tuned all my strings
You have to take out a fresh pick.
Maybe even throw it into the applause
On a good night they will smash the guitar.
Now we are making Music
I love listening to music
I love hearing the sound
The way the riffs come out of the guitar
When the player shreds on the strings
Then it is all followed by applause
There is so much variety to pick.
Between my fingers lies my pick
All throughout the dorms I hear music
I hope after this I can get some applause
I want to be an engineer of sound
Did I remember to tune my strings?
As I get off the train with my guitar.
Nothing beats when I pick up my guitar
When I strike the strings and make music
And after, when applause is the one remaining sound
Inception
By Ravi Pandey
To move in a dream within a dream
and go into one's mind and plant an idea
So strong that it makes them do the impossible
Always remember to bring your totem
Or else be driven to insanity
This is the world that exists with inception
Planting an idea is the plan of inception
Moving through several people's dreams
And trying not to submit to insanity
All to plant that one singular idea
First you must make your guard, your totem
In order to pursue the impossible
You ask why do you do the impossible?
Why do you bother with inception?
Why do you even need a totem
To move from dream to dream
all to plant an idea. An Idea!
Why risk the possibility of insanity?
Well, you realize it IS insanity
To risk everything to do the impossible
All to plant this one idea
It is insane in the world of inception.
To move deeper from dream to dream
Always remember to bring your totem.
So, what exactly is a totem?
It is your protection from the insanity
that results from moving through dream after dream
It keeps you sane enough to do the impossible
It is necessary to achieve inception
and help create obsession from one idea
Would you ever try to plant an idea?
and make your own totem?
Would you ever try to do inception?
And risk this kind of insanity?
All to achieve the impossible
of moving in a dream within a dream.
To try and plant the idea, I would risk insanity
To make a totem and try the impossible
All to do inception and move through a dream within a dream.
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Solitude
Looking back into the day I was born
I’ve learned to look at things again
To see the days in a way time won’t mend
The rolling past won’t leave me anything but inward—
Lost to the central whirl of the bright pages;
An entire film locked into stasis.
The present is locked into stasis.
Nothing seems to ever feel once again born,
No matter how hard I turn the pages
Life stays in the same place again
A clock turning inward
The wounds of the past are not to mend.
What is there to mend?
I only know that now I’m distraught in stasis
Bored by the movement inward—
Without being born
There is no again
There are no pages.
Desperate for pages,
Desperate to be mend
Please come again.
I refuse to die in stasis
Crystal state the day I was born
The glass scratching the claws inward
The night going inward
The wishful turning pages—
Tonight I am born.
I am looking for the whole to mend;
The lapse in stasis
The Freudian slip again
The tick of the clock again,
Accelerates inward
A mirror of a thought stuck in stasis
The final turning of a page
In a book! Meant to mend;
Today I am born.
Creeping out into the stasis again
The born baby comes out, inward
The pages of a new life, another to mend.
Balloons
By Phedorah Rosiclair
Funny thing started to happened as I started to grow up
I suddenly realized that I was not a brunette but a brown haired girl
Prince charming was not awaiting to sweep me away
and nothing was as good as it was in the movies
That I would never be fair; but the unfair
My cheek would never bloom a blush like a red red rose
No matter how many compliments paid to a daisy, she does not hold a candle to a rose
Flying down is harder than falling up
Even diamonds will be silent and cold to a girl
That smiling masks fall away
Wind only blow in my hair after mama straightens it like the girls' in the movies
I always thought two hours under a hot iron was unfair
One should be grateful and not dwell on the unfair
No one cares for content nor smell, luck ye be rose
Euphemisms galore to help me try and keep my head up
I'm starting to find it hard being a girl
I find my mind had be long ago sold away
To play a part in a star crossed movie
I watch out for it now, the movie
I soften my voice, lower my eyes, and create a library of personalities so I do not seem unfair
And as I age, don’t prove your love with a rose
I watch thousands of balloons, as the fly without me, up
Stop dreaming girl
So I stand near the edge, if I cant fly ill fall, fall away
What if reflections went away?
And how about ripping the down the beams of that movie?
Not caring about being or not being unfair
Hope that we all get bored with the rose?
Dream and send wishes way up
Not merely just a girl?
So now I a mirror at a girl
Wanting to wish her layers away
Wanting never again a second best role to play in a movie
Racing with the unfair
Watching the wilting, dripping, of the rose
She resigns to not keeping up
She looked at the brownie in the hand of a girl, she said “Unfair”
From the mirror and the movie she looked away
That night, she and I we would not wither in a vase as a rose, but follow feeling we have not the ones made up
Squints
By Nicole Johnson
He sits and stares as I type,
wanting out of my room.
Meow after meow at the door,
he nods off to sleep.
I look over to see his tail fliping,
back and forth, back and forth as he sits longer.
He's been here for ten months no longer,
and he seems to run the house,
like it's his now.
Meow after meow, swat after swat,
mouse after mouse he brings us.
I love him with all my heart.
The moment I saw his little face it melted my heart.
His little paws, face, ears, and tail,
all curled up in my arms.
I took him home that night,
found him on my grandmas porch.
Took him home and made him mine.
He had an allergy just like mine,
allergic to milk, odd for a cat.
But he was still my baby,
I'd always wanted one,
and now I had one.
My own little guy to call my own.
He grew up all on his own,
bigger tail, sharper teeth,
my big boy kitty.
eating food , crunching treats,
getting into everything,
and sleeping without curling up with me.
For the last ten months he's been with me,
my furry friend,
the one to cuddle with,
the one who meows to get in to my room and out.
He's still that baby I found on the porch.
He's mine,
in my heart,
forever long,
all my own.
Found on that porch,
my mini me.
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A lake B valley C Spring D wildlife E nature F peaceful
I enjoy going to the lake
That is way up in the valley
It's especially nice to be there in Spring
To see the first sign of wildlife
Where you can truly witness nature
And be sure to see it peaceful.
I would love to see peaceful
Play around the wide lake
To hold hands with nature
And walk through the hillside valley
While rejoicing in their song about spring.
I am sure that the song about spring
Would no doubt be very peaceful
As not to enrage the wildlife
But to sustain the lake
Before the hillside valley
Ends the walk with nature.
I can easily see nature
On a warm day in spring
The lush green valley
Where the birds even seem to be peaceful
And no ripples through the lake
Could cause any sadden wildlife.
The colors that would bring wildlife
To it’s purest form of nature
As to enhance the lake
That starts to breathe in spring
And brings a sort of peaceful
Form of the mountainous valley
One’s own dream can walk such a valley
And never truly see the wildlife
To be as colorful and peaceful
That could acknowledge the depth of nature
Of a warm day such as in spring
Where the shadows that are cast replicate the lake.
It is truly a dream of nature that only spring can capture
Surrounding the lake as peaceful
As the wildlife that lays on the hillside valley.
Insignificant Restriction
By Cynthia Antenor
An environment is nothing but a restriction
Because when one is finally released all that is absorbed will become insignificant
One can be the best at something
But there will always be someone better
Just like there will always be someone worse
So people need to detach themselves from their environment and become their own
Individuals need to find paths of their own
And shouldn't bow down to any restriction
Because when those around are bad one has the potential of becoming worse
None should accept a label on their forehead that says "insignificant"
Instead they should wear a T-shirt that says "do better"
So that one day they can have a greater chance of becoming something
Indeed it is a hard task to become something
Especially when one doesn’t have confidence of their own
But the only way to obtain this goal is to feel better
Or ones doubts and not ones environment will become the major restriction
So the doubts should shrink to the level where they become insignificant
And there will be less of a chance of being worse
If one has control one should never seek to become worse
Because eventually they will become nothing instead of something
And they will become insignificant to those already insignificant
With no sense of pride to own
If this is the case one will become their own restriction
With no sight of achieving anything better
One should always strive to do better
Never worse
Then everything wont become a restriction
And one can always expect something
Something of their very own
that is far from insignificant
What does it mean to be insignificant?
Is it to be worse
that is the fault of ones own?
or worse
the result of an inevitable something
in which the entities of its unknown lead to restriction?
Don’t let anything become a restriction
It better to lead a life and become something
Rather than being insignificant which is worse
black and white
by: Midori Dowdie
A. My favorite animal will always be the adourable Panda
B. Ever since the 5th grade I have had an ever lasting love
C. They love to eat and sleep all day
D. They have consumed most of my room
E. I must say it has turned into an obsession
F. From panda stuffed animals to panda wallets, I can not get enough
I have a panda pencil case, but that is not enough
On my bed there sits a panda
My room is covered, even a whole drawer, I cant even call it a secret obsession.
If you look on the back of my phone it will show my love
With all my panda belongings they will soon need a separate room
When I went to the DC zoo I visited with pandas all day.
I wanted to spend my night with them and all day
When my mother discovered my secret drawer of pandas she said “enough is enough!”
I don’t understand how it effected her, after all its my room
Stickers with pandas, notebook with pandas, Necklaces with studded pandas
I can not help it if I have so much love
My mother is in love with cook books, but no one mentions her obsession
The beautiful creatures on the brink of extinction called pandas
I would spend all night an all day
Trying to save my favorite animal that have taken over and become an obsession.
Heaven
There was once called a place heaven
Everything is perfect up there it’s so imaginable
You probably could see it if you looked hard enough into the sky
Everyone up there are friends and are loyal to each other
There’s no such thing of hate
Just love
Just love
Was the only thing that made sense in heaven
No one was familiar with hate
The sharing and caring was so imaginable
The rule was to love each other
If you want a world like that then you should pray to the sky
The blue sky
Might as well be red because of the love
Resembling a rose and even heaven
A place to reconnect with each other
The last thing on anyone’s mind was hate
Everyone saying “thank you” to every gesture and suggestion was too imaginable
Earth is the place filled with hate
If you want to escape pray to the sky
You can stop smoking a cigarette because of stress isn’t that so imaginable
You will finally be able to accept love
In this place called heaven
It’s time to reconcile with each other
It’s time to love each other
Diminish the hate
And look up towards heaven
Where the birds fly in the sky
They never fly solo always in a pack like a family of love
This sweet place is just so imaginable
How can the unimaginable be imaginable?
We keep trying to convince each other
That there will be more love
And less hate
Just look to the sky
Imaginable hate
Each other is all we have except the man in the sky
Love is what he will provide in the most beautiful placed called heaven
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Silence by Debbie Ly
The city sounds go boom
cars whiz by ignoring pedestrians
pedestrians struggle to have the rights
of passage past the souless machines
run by bodies colder than the peak
of Mt. Everest. They scream
Last year were the riots. The screams.
A crash of the people and a boom
go off. This is the peak.
from the crowds. Everyone was a pedestrian
The whistle blow and monstrous machines
silence the call for justice, for rights
The pedestrians chant, "We have no rights."
A person peering down and hearing chaotic screams,
that's the beginning of man vs. machines
the destruction of souls and the loud boom
of a cannon being fired at the pedestrians
stand atop the peak
The noises the ear can bear reaches its peak
"Give us rights"
is silences along with the pedestrians
One second and then there are no screams
The next minute the boom
The city sounds are filled with the clunks of machines
Do not panic, send out more machines
There is a fight to win, it has not yet reached its peak
At this rate we are at a boom
The president speaks, "They have no rights
Do not fear those screams
We do not need those rebel pedestrians"
There they stand, the pedestrians
They stand by mixing man and machines
Adding fuel to the fire of cries and screams
Fighting to the utmost peak
Who know not the meaning of freedom of rights
They reach limit that would make their lives go boom
We no longer hear the scream of the pedestrians
The booms are drowned out by the fear of machines
The fight for rights has passed its peak
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I look at your face and I go back in time.
I see you for who you were, fewer stitches,
Bolder colors; the red, white, and blue
Like fireworks in July,
And I see you for who you are, smaller;
Barely visible is the star behind your ear.
I hear your voice and lift up my ear,
But soon realize that your sound has gone in time.
What happened to the voice I heard when we were smaller?
Your thin, faded mouth now silenced by stitches
Is dryer than the long, hot torture of July.
Where you are grey, you once were blue.
I press your face against mine when I'm feeling blue
Still looking, still searching for the star behind your ear.
Why were you in the closet where I found you last July?
They put you, they put you there last time
Because no one but me remembers you before your stitches
Or knows I still love you how I did when I was smaller.
Is our love stronger or is it smaller?
When I'm dying, my skin turning blue,
I'll tear our my IV, my hair, my stitches
But keep you intact, everything from your foot to your ear.
Yes, we are stronger, regardless of time.
When I move into the light, it'll be as warm as July.
If I was born one month earlier, it'd be July.
Would that have made our chances of meeting smaller?
Or was it fate, not chance, that brought us close in time?
A pointless question, like why the French say "bleu" not "blue"
Or why we are born with one nose but more than one ear.
The "why"s don't matter to me, and neither do your stitches.
I remember screaming to my mom when you needed stitches
And she knew exactly what to do winter, Septermber or July.
Funny how you've never gotten torn on your ear
Yet your star still fades, every year getting smaller and smaller
Until one day it'll be gone, down to the last speck of blue.
But hopefully that won't be for a long, long time.
Your stitches aren't getting any smaller,
And you are no longer as blue as the skies in July,
But I just want to see the star behind your ear one last time.
The Possibility of a Dream
Everyone has dreams.
They are aspects of life
of the mind,
with dreams comes expectations,
which in turn, hold mysteries
all of which are unknown.
This idea of the "unknown"
is what makes our lucid dreams
all the more a mystery.
When I dream, I dream about the things which I can change in my life-
I never hold my dreams about change, miracles, or desires to great expectations
For they just lingering in the back of my mind.
There are great thoughts in my head, on my mind,
but they are never given any tongue, so they are a mystery.
No one ever shares how they feel, or what they aspire to do because of the expectations,
the expectations that come along with these half realities called dreams
Well, that’s life.
An unsolved mystery.
These mysteries,
are apart of the subconscious mind,
aspirations of life
that only in the most outward individual are not unknown
but when these aspirations become realities, they are no longer dreams,
but if dreams become realities, there no longer stands expectations.
When we rid ourselves of expectations
than life is no longer a mystery-
our dreams,
our thoughts- within our minds
are no longer unknown
but, here forward apart of everyday life.
When thoughts direct life,
the road to happiness is no longer a mystery.
If nothing is ever unknown,
nothing remains a mystery,
and we may free our mind
and expose our dreams.
Life is but a dream,
Expectations of the mind
A unknown mystery.
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