Sitting in silence
Nothing but the whir of the warm air
Looking over the sea of red
Wishing to be no place but here
On and on and on
On the near endless path
The waves of cars marches on
The smooth ground turns
Into, the bumpy path that follows
A loud screech fills the quiet street
Waking up from the chirp chirp chirp of the birds
Slowly marching down the hillside buried beneath a hood
I drown out the loud noises that follow
Only hear the word "amen"
Sweeping up the dust left from the past day
A loud whistle blows
We run so we won't be late
Lining up, toe to toe, shoulder to shoulder
Raising the pride of the his great nation
A surge of water goes over my crew
The wind is both and enemy and a friend
With out it, we fail
But it makes the trek hard
Reliving the best times
Until I wake up
Into the busy life I live
As the winters wind come rolling through town
The cold biting at the ears
Of the little children with red noses
The whistle of the slightly open window
The crackle of the slowly burning fire
A burst of embers dazzle around the fireplace
Smoke escapes from the chimney
Hiding the falling snow
How do you spell the sound of wind chimes?
How do you draw the shape of every snowflake?
How do you recapture the lost time of yesterday
How do you define a man in seconds?
How do you speak when you have no voice to be heard?
How do you feel important surrounded by so many?
How can you be you when you are defined by others?
I have always liked writing poetry because it gave a break from the sometimes monotonous writing of essays and reading responses. But for some reason this time was different, Not different in the sense that I did not like it but rather because I thought that it was much more intriguing this time than any other. It started in the beginning when we were told to do five push ups in the classroom. None of us knew what was happening but we just did them anyway. Then Fitz told us to follow him outside and he told us to go out into the snow and do five more in the middle of a snow bank. None of us knew what we were doing or why we just did it. I still remember going down and being met with a face full of snow each time. When we went inside, Fitz said that he did not know how to teach poetry because it is the same as writing an essay because writing is writing but he followed that with something I have not heard before. He said that writing was like doing five push-ups but poetry was like doing five push-ups in the snow, that it was the same meat and potatoes but with a twist. This made me really think about poetry in a different way than before. This day got me really excited about this section of poetry because I knew that we had a good captain at the helm. This experience of writing poetry was better that before because of the way that we were forced to think about poetry. I had done poetry before that was not restricted ( another thing that made this fun) but this was different because Fitz got us to re-learn poetry in a much more inspiring way than any other teacher I have had in the past.