Angry Young Man
This one isn't very good, but then again, I haven't really been feeling poetical recently. Sorry if it sucks. -E
"Angry Young Man"
Today is the unexpected anniversary
of your two favorite sins:
staring over the cliff, parachute in hand,
watching the tall grass far below waft in the breeze,
and never jumping,
and the second, the garbage-bag assisted drop
onto sharp rocks below.
Waking up this morning, all you can think
is "my, I grew into such an angry young man,"
before grudgingly slipping into a shirt
and trudging your way to work with heavy eyes.
You catch glimpses of dark trenches
carved by pity and hatred
and, perhaps, a lack of sleep
in the rear-view mirror.
Looking backward; funny how that works out.
She found the letter you left,
tucked neatly behind her phone,
folded eight times, crisply,
the ragged edges of the torn page
breaking the perfect lines.
You saw her unfold it-
you saw her look at you, just for a moment.
And then you were at the fountain,
staring into the heart of the city park
alone.
It'll pass in time. It always does.
Soon enough, you'll forget how long you stood,
wondering at the drop;
soon you'll find another cliff to leap from,
another sharp place to bed yourself.
Perhaps you won't need to celebrate it again.
More than likely, you will.
Happy anniversary.
-7-3-06
"Angry Young Man"
Today is the unexpected anniversary
of your two favorite sins:
staring over the cliff, parachute in hand,
watching the tall grass far below waft in the breeze,
and never jumping,
and the second, the garbage-bag assisted drop
onto sharp rocks below.
Waking up this morning, all you can think
is "my, I grew into such an angry young man,"
before grudgingly slipping into a shirt
and trudging your way to work with heavy eyes.
You catch glimpses of dark trenches
carved by pity and hatred
and, perhaps, a lack of sleep
in the rear-view mirror.
Looking backward; funny how that works out.
She found the letter you left,
tucked neatly behind her phone,
folded eight times, crisply,
the ragged edges of the torn page
breaking the perfect lines.
You saw her unfold it-
you saw her look at you, just for a moment.
And then you were at the fountain,
staring into the heart of the city park
alone.
It'll pass in time. It always does.
Soon enough, you'll forget how long you stood,
wondering at the drop;
soon you'll find another cliff to leap from,
another sharp place to bed yourself.
Perhaps you won't need to celebrate it again.
More than likely, you will.
Happy anniversary.
-7-3-06