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Waxing Poetic

May 3, 2010

I never fancied myself a poet, a young Shakespeare or as someone who would ever contribute great literature to the world. However, there have been times in my life that a moment or two has captured my mind in such a way that poetry came from my fingertips. And even those few times, I rarely saved anything I'd written. Except for a couple…



A Rainy Day


I hear the rain fall on the roof.

I close my eyes and try to imagine…

the feel of the drops on my face, down my back, through my hair.

And I strain to listen harder,

to hear the drops splatter to the cement.

But all I can hear is the constant hum of air pumping at 72 degrees,

air that hits the cement walls and bounces back,

keeping me safe yet making me a hostage,

separate from the world in which I truly

yearn to live.


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