Happy, happy Friday people! I’m tuckered out, who on earth are you guys?
So far I’ve read a whole book *gasps* finished a chunk of homework and now have a dreadful bunch of tests to take (and most likely flunk!), project to finish, wordcount to hit, late nights to stay up on (such as this lovely one) BIBC to participate in (Megan’s hosting this contest for the sixth time- and I’m so joining!) Life refuses to slow down, which is sad and stressful.
I’m also finding myself thinking harder about my faith, life and the future. Don’t ask why, my poor explanation will come jumbled and broken, and mixed with AIO references. And permanently having my hair held by a jumbo clip. Also don’t ask why.
Therefore onto the point of this whole post.
GASP I actually have a point. *mindblown*
Now, see, whenever I have to do something like listen (think live lecture or something equally boring) I have got to write something. Other people may need to doodle, still others knit, still others practice jiu-jitsu. We all have our quirks. Last night I began writing some poems on an old church program and thought they were worth a rewrite.
Poems are tricky things. They show more of one’s heart than a post such as this ever could. So sharing them is kinda like sharing my heart. But maybe someone will be encouraged by it, realize that they’re not alone. I think that’s worth it then.
There Was A Day
There was a day when people thought
Of others and not just themselves
When they preferred to look you in the eye
Instead of text you on a phone
There was a day when nature was
A common beauty and not
The occasional entertainment we choose
As opposed to dinner or a show
There was a day when people knew
How to converse at suppertime
The worth of doing things yourself
And the value of books down that library shelf
But there was a day
It lives in history books, in the rings of the old oak tree down the street
In the ice blue eyes of a old man, wrinkled hands clutching armrest,
Mouth wavering as he whispers to the air, saying
“There was a day..”
Raindrops patter down the glass
I look out of as my dry hands
Curl up on the cold leather seat
The man next to me
Is far too eager to tell me of
The wonderful amazing things Above
I’d listen but
And I want to go home
Fear of my uncle tickling me is
A good thing to have because I could die from laughter while
My cousins look on in amusement, and after, they and
I go to scare our aunts from behind and get scolded. They really do
Love it though- and threaten to
Yowl like cats, and eat all the rice krispie peanut butter squares.
I’m not very good at poetry, but I do enjoy it. I hope y’all did too- and that you’re not staying up ridiculously late like some blogger typing this right now is. *whistles innocently*