An Unfinished Poem
I was going through old notebooks today and I found a poem I had started once. It’s written on looseleaf paper and was never transferred into a journal, which means I probably wrote it down during a study period and never revisited it. That happened to me sometimes, I’d get an idea in my head, I’d let it out on paper and that would be that.
Doesn’t make for great end products.
However, I really like the idea behind this poem, and even though it follows a boring ABAB pattern and the meter is off, it’s kind of sweet.
It’s one of the only things in this stack of papers that I found written by High School Me that wasn’t overly dramatic or so cheesy it actually made me gag.
So I give you an untitled, unfinished poem written by my sixteen(?) year old self. I think it leaves her in a better light than her livejournal entries did.
The first toy handed to a child.
Not a doll, a bear, a train.
Imagination running wild
Keeps the toys from being plain.
The doll she holds is now alive;
She can hear her daughter cry.
This little boy knows how to drive;
He’s taught this train how to fly.
Imaginary friends and pets
Calm the dark and stormy nights.
It’s seldom he or she forgets
Those who comforted their frights.