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Pity
by Angela CottermanI was once told by a boy that he pitied me;
a boy that could not name his favorite color,
that could not understand that I have wept at blue,
the color of midnight with one star, or no stars,
occluded as they were, by a storm. How can it be
that the planets, orbs as they are, can be displaced
by our clouds? No wonder men for millennia were convinced
that Earth was the center of it all--the gods' preferred pet.
Pity is such a small thing, after all. 08/28/2009 Posted on 08/28/2009
Copyright © 2025 Angela Cotterman
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 08/29/09 at 03:35 PM Now this IS truly brilliant. You are star - may your planets come to love you. From cruelty you generated insight and created something beautiful in this poem. "how... can they be displaced by our clouds?" I certainly relate and these are genius lines. Your crafted tightly crafted poem hits home. Thanks, Angela. |
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