POEMS/Almost...  


ALMOST
Jan. 21, 2002

It's almost perfect, almost serene
the gentle lull of the wind
that appeases the most troubled soul
it's almost real, almost believable
it could have fooled the tears
just behind the woeful eyes
who'd give almost everything
to have the breeze pacify the noise
inside the back of of her abstract mind
the trees danced in sync with the wind
and far away the restless one reached out
only to have the mind ignore the plea
as the heavy head laid down in the arms
as the tired soul finally surrendered to tears



insight Who likes to cry? I sure don't. This is one of those moments when I've fought back tears just because I hate crying (even though nobody can see me cuz I'm in my room). I tried watching the trees but I've been holding it back for days. I mean, I just had enough and I needed to let it out. It would only take a minute or two and I'll be okay. But still, I fought it. If you can understand the poem, then you'd know if I won or not.


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