"mitzi" poems
Accidents happen in the Spring.
Babies are born from left-over
Autumn bonfires,
Never properly extinguished.
The sun should shine for an extra hour
So I can finish “The Burial of the Dead.”
Small dogs can escape out doors
Opened for a breath of fresh Spring air.
If there had been a screen on the door...
If it had been a cat...
If it had been raining...
If the sun had set sooner...
If the stranger had been kinder...
Would April accidents happen?
Instead, a sad woman cries,
*Ah, nao. Agrander a Deus.
Nao por favor. Mitzi.*
We can't plan for mistakes.
We call them accidents.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
Hey Mitzi, this is a more psychological thing than it is a poem, but hey, w.e.
I Write This As You Lay Under My Arm
Stiff, But Concious.
You Don't Seem To Always Know Who I Am Because You Stare Is Often Blank, But You Lay Concious.
It's Alright. You've Lived. You've Walked A Mile.
I Love You. I Write This Tears Roll Down My Cheeks. I Can Do Nothing But Pray And Watch Your Physical Responses.
Your Asleep, but Your Eyes Are Half Open And You Seem To Stare At Something In The Distance.
Beyond Me. Beyond Anything.
I'm Sorry I Can't Afford To Get You Any Professional Help, As You Suffer A Stroke.
Your A Cat And You Can't Read. But That's Okay, Because Your Exceptional.
Remember At Times, When No One Was Home At It Was Just You And Me, And I'd Protect You And You'd Protect Me?
I Wish I Could Protect You, But I can't Protect You From Yourself.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC