// Memory//

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  • Childhood

    // Memory//
    //Memory//
    You stretch your arms
    shadow my dreams,
    you talk of the moon
    a darkness smells.
    Oaths and promises bestow upon
    the constrasting human predicaments
    an identity carried with another's name
    whirling the globe on the student's table.

    The calender declares that
    your name written on the book cover,
    your scribbles calls signature
    gradually fades away into future.
    People gossip the
    Granny would naver voice in radio
    for the tide has started waiting
    some body to appear in the scribble.


    You remember the black board
    where the chalk underlines history.
    ( To Mita......)

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    Sophialaurenea commented on // Memory//

    06-11-2009

    EAT SMOKE ALCOHOL DRUGS: I CHOOSE TO WRITE by Sophialaurenea Y. Destine AMY LYNN BRADLEY Can you forgive me, Amy Lynn Bradley? I handled this whole situation terribly. As my body temperature started to rise I saw the suspeneful saga on American Most Wanted TV. My spiritual gifts were out of control-pryokinesis. It was an extreme crisis. I knew what happened; how can I rely to FBI this thesis? I had to call. I made myself stand tall. It was nothing or all. I spoke to FBI Agent Brad Bryant. My hands were burning; I needed to be under a fire hydrant. While I was at Trade Tech College, I used the public telephone. Agent Byrant and I were conversing as my heart rode the cyclone. How could I tell? How could I tell? I felt so alone. I never got a chance to see the FBI agent. I knew what I had to say was urgent. Forgive me, Mrs. and Mr. Bradley. I know what happend to your daughter Amy Lynn Bradley. Like a blood hound. I scent your daughter's blood type-A. Listen, American Most Wanted and FBI: I don't desire any rewards, no way! I clairaudiently heard the empty can drums play. Don't go; please stay. The man responsible had gone far away. Don't look in the water, don't look in the water: That's a clue I say. He has blood type B. Check his missing finger in his right hand, check his right hand, and you'll see. I'm not lying. I 'm not lying. Can you not see I'm trying? I don't want anyone to know I'm crying. Please forgive me, Amy Lynn Bradley for not bringing you home to your family. I want to bring them all home. Irene Silverman,Natellee Holloway, Baby Sabrina, Precious Doe, Adam Walsh and countless others: Some are still alive and some are dead. Why can't society see pass my skin color, being poor. What does the truth have to do with skin color and being poor? Don't these family deserve closure? I must be dumb because I just don't get it!!!!!
    Reply to Comment

    abhash0

    06/12/2009

    Beautifully commented. This is the best one for me.Ill keep it thanks. abhash

    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    abhash0’s Poems (41)

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