My lips hurt real bad.
Napoleon Dynamite will be mine A.S.A.P.
Brian got back together with his ex-girlfriend.
*sigh*
Sometimes on the last day of school before Christmas Break in your 3rd hour your teacher writes a poem for you and reads it in front of the class and makes you cry.
Now and then
I take off my rose-colored glasses,
And see the world with the dull gray tones
That corrode and rust the edges off of the dreamers.
Most of us are content to lurch through our path,
Hunched over by the weight of charred goals, burnt dreams
We have become satisfied to be the garbage men
Forever carrying the broken parts of our lives,
And then there are those that toss that Hefty bag
With the elastic handles to the curb,
And whether or not the mad and crazy cats come prowling
To tear open the assortment of our disappoinments
For the whole neighborhood to see
You keep walking.
This fills my gas tank, already running on fumes of sour hope
With fresh happiness and endurance.
In a world full of black jelly beans,
You are one of the last red ones hiding at the bottom of the bowl.
My feet weary from standing in the monotonous lines of life,
But like a worker from Hot Dog on a Stick,
Adorned in crazy colors of yellow and red,
Your cheerful greetings make this journey more pleasent.
Tires may fall off the axles of each of our dreams,
But you keep running.
Reminding the rest of us
That black is a combination of all the bright primary colors,
And hoping and dreaming are not hazardous to one's health.
by Jay McCulloch
Brian got back together with his ex-girlfriend.
*sigh*
Sometimes on the last day of school before Christmas Break in your 3rd hour your teacher writes a poem for you and reads it in front of the class and makes you cry.
Now and then
I take off my rose-colored glasses,
And see the world with the dull gray tones
That corrode and rust the edges off of the dreamers.
Most of us are content to lurch through our path,
Hunched over by the weight of charred goals, burnt dreams
We have become satisfied to be the garbage men
Forever carrying the broken parts of our lives,
And then there are those that toss that Hefty bag
With the elastic handles to the curb,
And whether or not the mad and crazy cats come prowling
To tear open the assortment of our disappoinments
For the whole neighborhood to see
You keep walking.
This fills my gas tank, already running on fumes of sour hope
With fresh happiness and endurance.
In a world full of black jelly beans,
You are one of the last red ones hiding at the bottom of the bowl.
My feet weary from standing in the monotonous lines of life,
But like a worker from Hot Dog on a Stick,
Adorned in crazy colors of yellow and red,
Your cheerful greetings make this journey more pleasent.
Tires may fall off the axles of each of our dreams,
But you keep running.
Reminding the rest of us
That black is a combination of all the bright primary colors,
And hoping and dreaming are not hazardous to one's health.
by Jay McCulloch