Shel A. Silverstein

Simply for fun

–drivel yet there was a flow, a feeling

Words just popped out, yet each with meaning

 

Primary school: applied to excite the mundane

the uncomfortable topics:

 

Death’s gentle caress

Admonished.

Bequeathed a kiss upon family

A tepid caress against the malign harshness of cloy finis

Dulcet whisper carcinoma, as you reap and raze my

kith and kin

-My hand anchored by my love for you-

I write no longer

 

 

High school: reclaim the pencil

realizing there was more to it than rhymes,

literary devices,

iambic pentameter.

 

There is a word in the dictionary for every thing I’m feeling. Thesaurus fidus Achates

 

Freedom.

Expression.

Tears and pride

euphoria at the idea

that written scrawl can voice

raw emotions

I never knew had name.

 

Descriptors calling out a thousand tears

Quiet

unrelated

unresolved

Releases it all

 

A way to learn language and words

I did not decide to be a poet,

this isn’t poetry

This is the disgorged avowal of

-My hand anchored by my love for you-

Stark ink, jotted scrawl

Release and rapture all in one

 To culminate my feelings, take form in cuneiform

This is not poetry

 

Don’t you know you’re life, itself