I want to write a poem, I just don't know what to say. I could tell you about my day, Or about the bed upon which I lay. I could tell you about neighbors next door, Or all about the girl I adore, But, alas, that might bore. I could be depressing and sad, I could be happy or glad, I could talk about my mom and dad. I could think and dream and speculate, Or possibly spark a long debate, I could go on and on and contemplate. I just want to write a poem, And don't know what to say.
Don't you know that foreigners are bad? They take our jobs and make God mad! They ****, and ****, and *******, and pillage! Why don't they just go back to their village?! Terrorists they are! Every one! What they've done cannot be undone! We have one here, what's under her veil? Surely something that will bring hell's hail!--
There's nothing here but hair. Maybe this hatred that we all share is nothing more than an illusion. Society's fusion of their elitist views and fears. I...I can't believe this has brought me to tears. Oh God. What have I done?
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? No— That bard Will has beaten me to it. Half a league, half a league— But the Light Brigade gives its thanks to my Lord Alfred. I know why the caged bird sings! Oh wait— That’s what Maya knows. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. I’ll take the road less traveled, but only cause that’s what Robert said. What’s left for me to write? Thoughts swirl in my head, and out through my pen. Art has taken written form. I know what I’ll write. The world will love it. I will love it. And I’ll keep writing, I’ll keep writing till the sidewalk ends— Really, Shel? You had to take that one too? But no matter… I’ll show you, someday.
This was the last song I listened to with you and we were driving in my car with the top down, watching the leaves fly up behind us on 32. I sang at the top of my lungs and you started to cry because the wounds of losing Dylan were so fresh and I cried too. You grabbed my hand I told you never to let go. And god the world keeps spinning, everyone keeps going on and I just want to scream that I'm not sure i'll ever be ready, can we just take a minute? Because if I move too fast I'm afraid i'll forget what you smell like, or your beautiful voice, or the way you help me so close. Now I'm standing here with a hand that doesn't know if it's holding only air and a heart that's waiting to skip a beat that matches yours perfectly. Crashing, falling down, I'm broken so just let me be. "Call It Karma-Silverstein" Call it karma because I was supposed to save you. I was supposed to be your angel that saved you from all of this. And I blame myself because you died in my arms that morning and it was all my fault.