EverlastingWaves

Emily Dickenson
born December Tenth
me
born December Tenth

she's a poet
my favorite, actually
writing about the flowers
remembered because of
words

i hope maybe someday
i can be remembered
because of words

blue is everything
a bright sky
with little puffs of clouds
with a bright, friendly blue as a backdrop
means happiness

blue is everything
the old friendly house
a reminder of home
with an air of broken joy

i feel so broken
sitting shattered at the desk
doodling in a notebook
forgetting the world around me

it's all a blur now
endless sheets of paper to take home
only two days to interact
huddling on the couch, sore and tired

armed with just a pencil
i fight all the math problems
with my small doodles
 

the birds moved across the sky
peppering the sky in a regular grey
unafraid, it seems,
of what could be to come.

their largest problem is that the tree is out of
bright red berries that
keep them fed.

this is written for the artists
who's brushes paint believing tales
across a canvas's plain face

this is written for the writers
who spin lore from broken pencils
and bloom flowers from a keyboard