It's three weeks into the semester and I am slowly losing my grip. But don't worry, I won't fall apart in some flashy dramatic way. It'll be quiet, behind doors, listening to Of Monsters and Men on a loop.
I wrote my first poems for poetry class. We were given a line from one of John Wieners poems to start them. I don't know how I feel abut them yet, so I will just post them without judgement.
1)
Old farms await to take us in
fold us into them
down dirt roads and crumbling highways
we rattle like loose tires
metal on metal, rubber on asphalt
we can hear our old mothers calling
kneading bread in the early hours of morning
kneeling down at bedtime
crosses clasped in cracked hands
we can hear our old lives waning
as the tires roll over uneven pavement
your hand out the window
catching the wind
2)
Old farms await to take us in
ancient roots grow under our feet
sprouting from hidden lakes underground
I walk through the tall grass
watching the stooped farm houses shrink
the farther my feet take me into the green ocean
if you listen closely,
can you hear
the gentle waves
the cries of birds
sometimes, there is silence
a stillness, as if time has stopped
alone in a sea of grass, I imagine
brittle wood splintering
a real ocean, full of fury
crashing down
drowning us all
A song to go with my mood:
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