When did sleeping sooner so to reach the dawn become
this endless musty wakefulness? When did rocketships
become airplanes, when did airplanes
stop being blue and red stars in a child's sky?
When did the grass grow hot beneath my feet
and seep between my lips and burn there?
How the hell do I get home?
The road is no shorter for my asking it
where it will end.
Misty, heat-haze vision
of walking towards the sun.
Once upon a time there was a girl that had things to say about every single one of these poems, and yet she still didn't. She still wants to remedy that situation. And she will begin here, where she left off an eon ago.
ReplyDeleteTo me this is reality, growing up, time, passing childhood. Waking up to realize the importance of living now and here, instead of missing what's going on because you're always looking a step or two ahead.
"When did the grass grow hot beneath my feet
and seep between my lips and burn there?"
This part specifically is like a reality check. Life isn't as simple and beautiful and easy as it once seemed. Trials will come out of nowhere, when once the very same place only held ease and comfort.
"How the hell do I get home?"
I swear I don't know.
The rest is like a struggle against impatience, and a final image of you and where we leave you.
I honestly just fit that whole poem into my own mold. I hope it's absolutely wrong and you like it anyway :)