November 16, 2010
By lovethenumber13 BRONZE, Watertown, Connecticut
lovethenumber13 BRONZE, Watertown, Connecticut
3 articles 0 photos 4 comments

Like tiny spears they tear at my window
The flag is flying high with nothing but the deep smoky sky to catch it
It is thrust back and forth
Straining to keep its dignity
As it loses its color and the light that keeps it seen
Is overshadowed by the fierce shots of illumination
Cries of despair drop like a bowling ball violently sweeping the sky
Or a fight with no resolution and no way of going back
The bitter cold brings awareness of my inner warmth
I close the windows but it only makes me feel more removed
From the girls laughing behind the off-white walls
The color of a hospital room, of hopelessness
That wretched color that confines me

The author's comments:
This poem was initially about a thunderstorm, but it also describes those moments when you feel like you are a stranger in your own life.

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