As we were cleaning out the washroom tonight, I found one of my old journals. The last thing that was written in it was this poem, written on February 3, 2001. It doesn’t sound like it’s finished, but I really like the way it’s written, so I’m posting it here.
* * * *
frayed and stolen
stolen and lost
vague voices and shapes
coming out of the dust.
thrown into the back
of a moving truck
dark shadows and shapes
take form in the dark.
tied and gagged.
gagged and blinded.
far away voices and shapes.
beyond the boxes and crates.
frayed and stolen.
stolen and lost.
vague voices and shapes
coming out of the dust.
as the dust settles
and the truck moves on,
while the girl listens,
he plays with his gun.
2 Comments
Max!!!
Your poem is great. I can’t believe you wrote that in 2001. Have you thought of being a poet, or song writer?
Love, Mom
I like it, it’s different. I love when I read peoples poems, everyone has there own style it’s sweet.