I wrote a poem of hope,
just to see how it felt,
but my friends were quick
to see I didn’t belong there,
and by silence spoke to me;
I put hope back on the shelf.
I wrote a tired poem,
because I felt that way,
and still my friends were quiet,
though now I’m not sure why,
unless they thought me lazy,
and knew the quiet
would drive me to despair.
So I wrote a poem of despair,
of frantic panicked anguish,
and everyone wrote to let me know
they were glad to see me home.
Will, you should come visit me in Humboldt, I will listen to your poetry as much as you want.
ReplyDeleteTim
Are you forgetting those of us who are faithfully reading every poem but are afraid to say something because we're too shy? :)
ReplyDeleteAnonymous, I thank you for your faithful reading, but in part I am influenced by the statistics google offers blog users. Whenever I write a happy poem, it rarely gets even 10 page views, whereas poems that deal with intense pain receive over 40 page views from a number of countries. Rather a large difference. Still, when I wrote this I forgot that no one likes a whiner, I don't plan on posting more poems of this sort, poetry is not meant to be my means of complaint, but of giving words to common experience.
ReplyDeleteI read your stuff, but through an RSS so it might not affect your page stats.
ReplyDelete