I hear the screams.
Tortured screams of children.
I hear the wind blowing through.
Rattling the un-openable windows.
I stare at the wooden desk.
My torture in progress.
I get a break in fifteen minutes.
I watch the seconds tick by on the clock.
It's freezing in here.
And hailing outside.
There is no hope here.
No hope for the children in school.
The smell of rain precedes the storm
that looms out in the west.
The sound of distant thunder
causes racing in my chest.
The temperature begins to drop
as I begin to flee
Seeking shelter from the storm
beneath a lonely tree.
I cower there, although I know
this haven's a mistake.
I know this is a lightning rod
but that's the chance I take.
The clouds, like battlements,
now, tower overhead
they fill my heart with dread.
Drops of rain begin to fall
and plop among the leaves
Followed my the icy hail
that toward my shelter weaves.
A branch has fallen near my crouch
and nearly I am crushed.
My choice to wait beneath the tree
now seems a little rushed.
I stumble out into the storm.
The rain is driving hard.
Lightning strikes the tree I'd left.
The trunk is black and charred.
How foolish was my little hike
in spite of warnings thus.
Stay at home when storms approach
or next time...take the bus
the voice of the dim cathedral
haunts my bones
its slim fingers wrap around my neck
and through my skull
a voice from many
releases dawn on the backs of my eyelids
and sets fire to my ribs
a boy beckons us to hail true body
freeing me from earthly restraints
Let it be known throughout the land
From highest peak to wettest sand
With sharpened tongue and steady hand
The talking frog is in command
With belly white and skin of lime
A hero for the modern time
He uppered fun and lowered crime
His skillset includes pantomime
Of all the kings he is the best
A chiseled jaw and manly chest
We even put him on our crest
(He helped to found the turnip fest)
A friendly frog we all adore
With lots of fun and games in store
He'll make us smile, he has before
We thank you, frog, for this and more!
I am secluded
by the steps of a brutal mind
Written in black and white
numerals on dirty chalkboards
Was I sleeping past my childhood lesson?
Please, wake my tired, bloodshot eyes !!
They are weary from
and X rated dreams
The sting of the wooden rule of measure
punished my hands
The welted numbers tattooed
on my swollen palms
Ten Hail Marys are not enough to stop this atrocity
The towering stoic women,
dressed in black habits
I do not dare look away
but I did
Time was broken
when the rulers cracked the desk
Ear deafening sounds
with my frozen tears stuck in pause
I looked up to the heavens
to seek answers from my god
Not one whisper back,
I was screaming vulgarties in silence
Lowering my head to my desk,
I closed my eyes
and counted the numerals
on the dirty chalkboard