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The End of English I Advanced Honors, The Beginning of Summer
Sometimes I think how light is spent
a word in graphite on a desk
when day does end and night commence
her shaded curtains drawn.
I asked a play-write, scorned and old
traveled in skies I've yet to see
loved in life and soon was sold
to Death's arms which gathered all.
I used to think the world was round
and dreamed in black and white and gold
my thoughts were simple in a cloud
of dust, of lust, of love.
Summer days and midnight walks
are udder fantasies to me
but as I sit, the silence knocks
for fear is not my enemy.
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