Poetry
Captive Audience
Like flies in amber, we are trapped in time,
Imprisoned by the swiftly passing minutes;
Like free verse being forced to make a rhyme,
Like growing — up to predetermined limits.
I try to tear my mask, to rip it off,
To write the plainest truth instead of riddles;
But when I try to speak, I start to cough,
And all my writing turns out to be scribbles.
Please just give me time to find myself,
To make a difference while it’s not too late,
To sort through all the stories on my bookshelf,
And figure out which ones are out-of-date.
They tell us, “Try to organize your time.”
I tell them, “Not all poems have to rhyme.
Homework
Trying to focus
Why is everything else so
Much more intriguing?
Window
Rooms that have windows
Are nicer to be in than
Rooms without windows
Because windows let you see
All these things you can’t quite hear
