PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am an outpost of myself.

         .         .        .   

My first Teacher made a cup of my soft clay

And poured it full of sincereity only.

Then I found myself among

Young children     toting guns;

Some with high heels

And smooth and straight hair.

      .        .        .

So I vacated the field.

Was this cowardice?

Or, an angelic memory

Directing my steps.

        .        .        .

Yet when the worried-over catastrophe struck,

I was in a shock and my glasses flew off;

My thoughts were absorbed in 'Where are my glasses?"

        .        .        .

And then I found, as foretold by L.C.,

Though the "party was over",

Still "I had landed on my feet".

        .        .        .

So that's all I learned

This time around.