you almost forget, it’s buried so deep
you learned not to let your light shine
learned to cover yourself with a smudge
everyone avoids the one with the smudge
it’s easier to hide the feelings deep
it’s easier to pretend not to shine
you cannot fail if you don’t try to shine
you can always succeed with your smudge
you know they won’t look all that deep
but from deep, against your will, the shine always conquers the smudge
Winter shadows dark;
My truth is not apparent
out of the sunshine.
“Of course I can but I just can’t, you know?
It’s hard,” I whine. “Why can’t this come with ease?”
There’s effort here and yet it doesn’t show.
So close, the words won’t rhyme or scan; they tease.
I wish for depth of feeling in my words.
Profundity eludes me at all cost.
Significance? There is none, only turds.
But I keep writing even if I’m lost.
My peers all push me to participate
And tell me that I must a sonnet type.
And even though I know it doesn’t rate
I’m writing you this pile of vomit. Tripe!
Although, you see, this poem is not good.
I wrote it, damn it, ’cause I said I would.
Needles crunched below while you remained silent
As I brought you into the woods, the pine
trees scented the air and then I heard you breathe deep.
When you finally start, your bitterness runs so deep,
I let you carry on. I keep silent
Standing before you in the shade of this majestic pine.
I am slain among the pine;
Your sharp words cutting deep.
You speak your piece and fall silent.
I am silent when I leave you with the pine; this time your wound is deep.
