Writing

I was looking for, something, ah, my old Wonder Woman datebook cover, when I came across a box containing all my old high school poetry. Rather than keep them locked up I thought I would share them, if for no other reason than to laugh (although some of these were actually PUBLISHED in small presses and were responsible for me winning awards and scholarships). These poems are TWENTY years old. TWENTY. Muse on that one, man.

Here is your first installment:

Writing

Writing is

like the wind,

lifting my soul.

Carrying me to

the safe utopia

in the dark abyss

of my mind;

Grasping my hand:

an anxious mother;

Hovering over me with eagle eyes:

an over-protective father;

Yet, letting me be free

letting me be me.

Writing is like the wind.