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we get different
by Charlie Morgan
my clipboard held my notes
to life and past the Beyond;
wind cracked like a whip-snake,
i was of pasta; spagetti, my arms.
the ride was not over, i still
had the scary part to do,
and i was alone.
fearing to listen;
afraid i'll hear that
tomorrow is canceled.
i squint at the Cyclops;
he blinks, i disappear.
09/01/2009 Posted on 09/01/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 09/01/09 at 04:57 PM "tomorrow" is only a relative term, but at any rate, they never run out. Only our bodies end, and when we leave them, we are no longer concerned with the existence that was attached. As for love, there is eternity for that, always. |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 09/02/09 at 01:54 AM "Afraid i'll hear that tomorrow is cancelled" is such a touching line. Something I wake to just from a nightmare, heart racing. |
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