Hey, I just found another writing journal that I started and didn't continue to write in (I feel so bad for trees right now). Generally, when I look back at my poems or bits of prose I remain unimpressed with myself. I don't know if this is because it really is mediocre, or if I'm just really judgmental because I'm the one who wrote it. Either way, here's one that I still kind of like...kind of:
my heart forgives the soul
for wandering close beyond.
without the smudged gray land
there arise the blue and black
though nothing to behold
and alas the world lies flat
I also just realized, I don't rhyme very often in my poetry. I wonder if this is some sort of mental quirk that gives insight in to what kind of person that makes me, because I don't do it on purpose, it just doesn't happen.
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