From a Corner of My Mind

Creativity Like wings on an eagle,  self-expression lifts above the criticizing waves of the mundane  and into the realm of  the stars, But  reaching hands cannot grasp their light So swooping down again we try to catch the fish that fill the waters below But find that our claws are unsharpened and our talents not exercised We fall instead, water soaking lilting feathers weighing us down to  crash once more into the sea Searching for escape, the only thing we find in the sky is rain and wind and clouds How is it that only the old rise high enough to see the sun? Someone come to bear me upon their brawny back Push me through the clouds to see, for once, that stars are merely men Lead me there into the sky, for the heavy grip of existence pins my wings and  holds me here below This poem kind of sprang out of some thoughts I had the other day about how the world defines success. We're told to be ourselves, yet we need...

It was raining again. It always seemed to be raining here. The droplets thudded against Olivia's umbrella, and the wind carried them to wet her black coat and red hair as her feet crunched in the gravel road. Every so often a heavier drop rolled off the black umbrella, falling to splatter on the ground, its path delayed by her intrusion. The rain darkened the brown of the rough wood fence along the road, darkened the grass baked by summer in the fields on the other side, darkened the dying leaves of the maples that ran along the horizon. Interspersed in all that brown were the evergreens, stately and out of place against the gray sky. It had been raining the day she left this place, Olivia remembered. Jake had carried the last of her boxes to the car for her, and she had tried to hold the umbrella over both of their heads. They ended up soaked. "Well," he had said, holding his hands up to the sky. Water dripped off his dark hair and across his flushed cheeks. "I...