don't lean on that. yes you lad!

--my head is starting to hurt. i think i'm getting a little sick. emily dickinson is pure magic. we read some of her really good poems in 11th grade. now that i'm rereading her poetry, i love her, appreciate her like she was God's gift to mankind.

a little structure can't hurt

reverie

gray sunlight shone
on gray concrete,
still walking alone
on two hid feet,

tall all around me
looking down over;
i could see the street
calling me quickly.

only the clip clap tat
of lonely shoes,
and blank faces
beneath a sea of blue
could make me believe,
that i was all alone
in this living reverie.

_________________________
and freedom can't hurt either

culture

acute awareness slowly reminds
of a day that has forgotten,
passed over when i didn't read the signs
of childhood mistaken.

there it is, all before me
from sea to shining sea
hope with its feathers
with it's fake harbors

he laughs when i dream
dares me to dream
asks me to die
when i should live

the arrogance of green i smell
forgetting life. so did i cry!
the stars still shine,
hope still sings
from sea to shining sea.
i shall live,
though you ask me to die.