My Walt Whitman

May 16, 2010
I hear America singing
I hear its brood develop among its various nations,
I hear the laborers work quickly and silently,
The silent drop of their sweat impacting the ground
Plopping amongst the nourishing grounds.
I hear its fishermen sway with the waters,
Swooshing with the wind.

I see the land of opportunities in a concrete jail
Yet my mind over powers it all bringing out its beauty
But who are you, with the light brown hair?
Handsome one with the dark honey eyes, I have met you before in another life.
Skin as fair as the sandy beach, smooth like a Sunday morning shower.
Inside I flutter when I see you walk by down the hall of the endless melancholy
This secretly, I shall conceal for you won’t know, not even your slightest appeal will be revealed.

I smell the freshly wet dirt, and the still slightly damp air.
The flowers rejoice with the delicate layer of mist
Just like the roses that bloom in spring, the time will come for me to blossom
And my inner most talents will astound them all
I will come and join, and sing with joy
I too will be America’s voice
And hopefully someone will hear America singing
But this time they will hear me as well.

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