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I Am a Broken Plate CRASH!!! I had finally hit the floor. Even though it had only been a fraction of a second, really, it felt like it took ages. I wasn�t afraid or anything, but it was inevitable. But it was finally dark. Darker than when the lights were out, darker than when there was no sunlight. I had only ever experienced darkness like it one time before. The wretch that had taken me off the wall of the museum� As new artifacts come in, the seemingly less important ones are moved around, to the front, to the back, into storage. I was moved into the front window of the museum. I had been high on my own pride, but I later realized I wasn�t as much of a hot shot as I thought I was. Being in the front of the museum had its down side I soon realized, after a short amount of time I was pocketed by a teenage girl, and taken to a pawn shop of all places. I was disgusted. How could an artifact as beautiful as me end up in a shop for paupers? I did not stay in the pawn shop for long, as an old folks home was being constructed at the time and needed bright and colorful art to be hung all around. I wasn�t as bright as I had been, but I was distinguished. And there I stayed� At first I hated it. As if old people can see me anyway!!! I was hateful at first, but learned humility with the loneliness and death that surrounded me daily. I had wished to be destroyed, and I never really gave up on that wish, but came to cope with the odds of that� until the earthquake The poem I Am a Broken Plate by Justin Montgomery Thornton age 15 Copyright � 2005 Justin Montgomery Thornton All Rights Reserved |
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Here We Are There is a world so vast we cannot comprehend, Yet we wonder endlessly about our existence. One cannot know the nature of this familiar place, Except to recognize how unfamiliar it becomes With time. The winds show us the direction of our mortality. It guides us to what our destiny will be. Like the wind we must pass on, Fading slowly into a breath; inaudible, The wind dies, the land is still, Here we are. from the book WORDS...LOVING EMOTIONS by Pittershawn Palmer |
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NEW COUNTRY I'm here now, new air, food, faces, bodies, more ideals, ambitions and sadnesses. All that was left behind sneaks back into my memory. My country, former Yugoslavia, is one dead stifled specter, but the ancient beauty of the Balkans is still suspended before my eyes like a painting. In the midst of all these new and strange sights and human looks, I�m struggling to be a part of it all. I�m trying to find the path, so I can take a part that is only mine and nobody else's. I�m commuting on the train, from the Garden State to New York City, and American reality spreads before me like a daydream. The homeless are sinking, businesses are rising, and the bullshit is walking while the money is talking. I�m stepping peacefully, naively at first, and without much noise, across this country, alive with contrasts, risks, and much hope� America. Copyright � 2005 by Bazhe. All rights reserved Read more poetry by Bazhe Click Here |