Monday, January 12, 2009


I was never made to write poetry...I don't really mind reading it too much, but I'm terrible at writing it myself. In 6th grade we had to write a "poetry book" and mine was...horrible...but anyway, we were told in English to compare an emotion to a thing, like a window, leaf, grass, crayon, etc. This is what I came up with; my measly attempt at poetry...I know, I shouldn't try

The fog is there as soon as one gets up
in the morning.
It hits as soon as the blinds open,
wiping away the innocent feelings of sleep.

Gray, damp, lingering
A sheet of feeling that hides other,
sunny emotions.
The fog lifts as the day goes by,
hidden beneath the sun of distractions,
but it always comes back in the mornings.
Optimism is scarce in the fog of guilt.

Disclaimer: I don't actually feel guilty about anything...I merely thought of guilt when I thought of fog, and, voila, there's the poem...I guess I could of thought of allergies, but that would have lead me to writing about Claritin Clear, so no-go...