Poetry For Our Time

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. -Novalis


with one comment

He takes an aggressive stance,
legs spread apart,
feet rooted to the ground,
shoulders tense and wide.
The hands —
first, one clenched
and pounding into the other,
then spread apart like
Come at me, I dare you.
Yelling, just to be sure
I hear him.

I don’t come at him.
I tell him to back down,
walk away,
cool off,
but doing that would mean
I won.

But, just for a second,
I think I see
a question in his face —
Can’t you stop me
from doing this?
This isn’t what I wanted.
This life isn’t what I wanted.

Just for a second.
Then, it is gone.


Written by Ashley

February 18, 2009 at 2:00 pm

Posted in Poem

One Response

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  1. I didn’t want to taint any readings of this with background info on this poem, but this kid is the reason I couldn’t bring myself to post anything yesterday. Yup, that’s right, this happened in my classroom yesterday, and my mind was so muddled with it, I couldn’t get my thoughts straight.


    February 18, 2009 at 2:03 pm

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