The Door
The door creaks open,
and I walk in.
How solemn I am,
planning a gruesome sin.
I pull a sharp blade
out of my bag.
I aim it,
I throw it.
Now everyone's dead.
The Tree
I climb higher and higher
up in the tree.
The wind tosses my hair,
and finally I'm free.
After my crime
this feels so good.
This wonderful feeling
has halted the flood.
Sitting up there,
feeling so calm,
A sweater on my shoulders,
keeping me warm.
I crawl out on a branch,
and I take a look down.
I've got only one chance
to become one with the ground.
I leap from the tree,
and fly through the air so free.
I hit the ground with a smack,
and hear every bone in my body crack.
How wonderful it is to be free,
way up high
in the top of that tree....
The Box
My eyes snap open,
all I see is black.
Where am I??
I see a light shine through a crack.
My skin is so cold,
my box is so small.
I remember this feeling,
but I don't feel so old.
My arms are like lead,
yet I push up the lid of my case.
"It's locked..." I think.
Like a bolt on a safe.
"Help me!" I scream.
Then everything stops,
and finally someone lifts
the lid of my box.
I slowly sit up,
and I look all around.
I open my eyes and stare
at the sullen carpet on the ground.
"Why?" I gently ask.
"Have I been locked
in this big, black box?"
1993
Next Poem: Guardian Angel
