DRIFT

It's so close to Spring Break I can smell it. Freshly cut grass, slightly moist soil and decaying leaves are what I imagine freedom to smell like. Another school week over, another month begun, I'm wondering where time goes. Youth definitely is wasted on the young. We do not appreciate it nearly as much as we should.

I was reading "The Cholera Years" between classes today and one of the footnotes made me laugh aloud. The chortle that erupted from my body actually startled me. Then I burst into a fit of giggles thinking about My Obsession and her habit of chuckling over similarly dry books. She plagues me so and she has no idea. What a strange concept. I wonder if anyone feels that way about me. If my piquant habits fascinate anyone to the verge of unhealthy obsession. I hope not.

Creative Writing Prompt, GO!!
(I don't think I've written a poem since I was a moody pre-teen)

Prompt #5
Pick a poem that you like. Take the last line and use it as the first line of your own poem.

"City Dusk"
F. Scott Fitzgerald

"One Poncey Poem"
B. Schmidt

We'll drift like summer sounds upon the summer air,
Oh! That sweet, sweet music,
That familiar vernacular of sinners and saints,
Storm-tossed and star-crossed.

Lovers built for dreams alone,
Celestial, ethereal, mercurial,
Too precarious,
For our mere mortal selves to catch hold.


I'll meet you my Love,
Somewhere across the astral plane,
Where skylarks will chirrup to our reunion,
And we'll make love in the summer rain.