May 15, 2005

Exiting

I felt compelled to write some poetry.

Never knowing you, except for that blue bundle
You carried--pressed--not to fumble.
Blind from another pack,
On a bending back,
We watched--
Tirelessly, debauched.

"Just another young one
with a young son."
A snarled path that dandies prayed not tread
That the vacant old had already lead.

A laden tread you walk no longer.
Deciding no more, just not stronger.
We see--
But can't agree.

Posted by Amanda Cochran at May 15, 2005 11:18 PM | TrackBack
Comments

Cryptic. Hmm. A teen mother? Your bookbag? Gah, don't be angry if I guess wrong...

Posted by: Karissa at May 17, 2005 11:15 AM

Not completely wrong on the first count.

Posted by: Amanda at May 17, 2005 6:21 PM

Amanda What does this poem mean? I am confused

Posted by: grammy at May 17, 2005 8:08 PM

A special set of circumstances, Grandma.

A young father took his own life in our area, and I was inspired by this event to write this. It doesn't directly address him, but it asks us to reevaluate the manner in which we perceive others.

Posted by: Amanda at May 17, 2005 8:44 PM
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