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December 31st, 2008 - altheabashar

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Dec. 31st, 2008

12:24 pm - poem

Whitman was right
I want to be a child
living on the couch all day
life in front of the fireplace
dreaming of fame but also dreaming
of light and fictional lands
of becoming another person
in another century

the clean sun spots on wintry fields outside my doorstep
branches swaying
I have no control over this eruption of feeling
I will write when I write
and hold silence in empty seasons
I too am paralyzed

to be myself
I stopped writing poetry for a whole year
you can't explain the muse
I tried to control my hand
but my hand rebelled

winter is a sabre
from the root a river flows
cutting the morning with these lazy thoughts
grown into little children
sad wayfarers
the open rose
winter lavish in cold innocence

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