He didn’t recall the bullet pass through
Nor even remember the sound it made ,
Just that he wasn’t quite sure what to do
Other than think of his mom’s lemonade.
Well, he had wanted to be a writer,
Or at least something resembling Shakespeare,
Telling his doubtful mother he’d fight her
Until he realized her logical fear.
Now that was off the table forever,
Shattered on a battlefield somewhere west,
Unsure why God had to pull the lever
When he was nowhere near ready to rest.
Yet before his feet graced heavenly plains,
He suddenly found himself on an isle
Where tears were replaced by shy April rains
And he was invited to dream a while.
All the typewriters he could dare ask for
Marched into his hotel suite on the sand
Complete with publishing offers galore
Plus lots of grammatical contraband.
He was not alone in his second chance
As was proven by distant baseball bats
On top of bar exams and ballroom dance
And a jockey exceeding gambling stats.
Still it was done right after it begun,
Merely a brief glimpse of what might have been,
Lobbying God for a parallel sun
Under which boys could have died as full men.
-
Author:
Sam Hendrian (
Offline) - Published: March 17th, 2023 20:39
- Category: Sad
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments1
Very touching, and literary poem. I have never read a poem that deals with the sadness and disappointment of death, quite like this one. It is a good example of poetry now, but it may have the basis, with some rewriting to be a very, very good work. Keep writing.
Have you ever tried writing more traditional sacred poems. I bet you could write some fine ones. Try to achieve a balance in your writing would be my humble advice>
I'm not sure he asked for advice. I do give advice, but only when asked for...... I, to put in my three pennyworth, don't think he needs it......
I must admit that after thinking about your reply, you are probably
right. Maybe I made the unthoughtful conclusion that all young
poets are looking for, in need of advice and education. I feel like
I have received a good amount of that from reading your poems,
comments, and replies. I was so impressed by his poem, that I felt
the need to put in my two cents worth of admiration. And I know " I could be wrong".
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