I’m having writers block. I have a million things going through my head right now and it seems like they all want to come out and can’t. I’ts like having an hour glass filled with marbles. For some strange reason a few poems that I wrote about 10 years ago popped into my head this morning. I used to have a notebook that had all my writings, but it was lost when I moved. One of my poems that I wrote was actually published in a poetry book…wish I could remember which one. I do remember my mom not believing that they were my original work. Can’t really blame her though, I mean I surprised myself sometimes with them. Here are three from the top of my head.
Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be dead,
Total silence, total darkness, bugs crawling on your head.
Nothing to do day after day , but just lay there and feel your body decay.
Wondering if your soul will go to heaven or hell,
the way you’ve lived your life, you really can’t tell.
Then you breath a sigh of relief , and praise God that you are alive.
But to your surprise, you begin to realize,
there is total silence, total darkness…
and something is crawling in your ear!
The little child is awaken by the monster at night,
tears roll down the child’s face from the fright.
The monster tells the child “you will not get hurt,now close your eyes”,
but the little child knows that monsters tell lies.
The big men monster touches the child,
the big mean monster does this for awhile.
The big mean monster gets up to leave the room, looking all happy.
As the little child says “goodnight daddy”.
Death comes and goes, when will it be your time? Only God knows.
Don’t morn over your loved one who has passed away,
you’ll be able to see them again someday.
So dry those tears from your eyes,
say “i’ll see you soon”, not “goodbye.
Because death come and goes, when will it be your time? Only God knows.
Let’s get one thing straight, I never claimed to be Dr. Seuss or Stephen King when it comes to writing. I like reading poetry because it’s a play on words. Something else that came to mind for some strange reason is a short story by Ernest Hemingway called “Hills Like White Elephants”. It doesn’t necessarily have a play with words, but makes you think and somewhat makes you build a relationship with Jig.
Alright, that’s all for now.