No Subject
This week was nice, mostly in that it felt unconventional and strange but also in that I didn't spend the majority of it alone, and even had a lot of fun exercising.
Like I said, unconventional and strange.
I wrote this poem for English. It was supposed to be a free verse, but isn't.
Inside, Below, and Above
Inside the sky sits a sliver of darkness,
a crevice carved out of the stars,
and whether within
a figure ever finds found,
we’ll see it just left of red Mars.
Below, on a beach on each every man’s Earth
sits sprightly a spirit of white,
and though thoroughly throttled
by decay and demise,
he figures it’s still worth the fight.
Miles above, a man high on a mountain
strides stoically, stops, and then stares
out across the terrain,
pensive and sane,
considering none of his cares.
Somewhere between sits a boy at his screen,
tip-tap-typing away all his thoughts.
While the words all appear,
and his thoughts become clear,
his mind starts to wither and rots.
There is way too much crap happening this week, like a math test on Wednesday and an impending release date for the newspaper for which the Flipside pages have not even been started, in addition to the normal crap which normally takes up too much time. I'm starting to not care about what gets done and what doesn't, which I guess is senioritis, seeing as we've only got six weeks or so left. This year has gone by fast.
Oh, yeah, I got a Facebook profile. MySpace got a little too ad-heavy, so I figured it was time to immigrate and cause the same problem at Facebook.
Next weekend's events are confusing to me. Will someone explain them? I have to write another poem now.
Like I said, unconventional and strange.
I wrote this poem for English. It was supposed to be a free verse, but isn't.
Inside, Below, and Above
Inside the sky sits a sliver of darkness,
a crevice carved out of the stars,
and whether within
a figure ever finds found,
we’ll see it just left of red Mars.
Below, on a beach on each every man’s Earth
sits sprightly a spirit of white,
and though thoroughly throttled
by decay and demise,
he figures it’s still worth the fight.
Miles above, a man high on a mountain
strides stoically, stops, and then stares
out across the terrain,
pensive and sane,
considering none of his cares.
Somewhere between sits a boy at his screen,
tip-tap-typing away all his thoughts.
While the words all appear,
and his thoughts become clear,
his mind starts to wither and rots.
There is way too much crap happening this week, like a math test on Wednesday and an impending release date for the newspaper for which the Flipside pages have not even been started, in addition to the normal crap which normally takes up too much time. I'm starting to not care about what gets done and what doesn't, which I guess is senioritis, seeing as we've only got six weeks or so left. This year has gone by fast.
Oh, yeah, I got a Facebook profile. MySpace got a little too ad-heavy, so I figured it was time to immigrate and cause the same problem at Facebook.
Next weekend's events are confusing to me. Will someone explain them? I have to write another poem now.