Things That Seemed Poetic
Things that seemed poetic were
always sad, though I yearned for
glitter and my dad's guffaw, which
never came. Familiar things were
always drear -- repeated motions
in the same old game. There were
only distant glimpses of budding
Spring, fleeting views of daffodils.
The strongest poems dealt me
death and dying. Still, I always
hoped, never went under to gray
despair, forever dreaming of a
garden of love we could share --
but those forbidden delights
faded quickly away. The only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal
death and dying.
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