The Last Dance

That beat took me to another dimension.
It controlled my soul and led me to a place
where beauty didn't matter,
where size didn't count,
where I could be free.

But I was a horse with a broken leg,
doomed by injury to be left
sitting against the mirror, lost
in the shadows and drowning
in the beat I once loved.

I worked, I fought,
driving against a willpower
and a body that begged
me to stop, but I would never stop.
I was not born to stop,
never a quitter.

I was Ruffian, battling,
limping with no support to lean
on. But my spirit soared higher
than the lights that beat me down.
My heart called me,
to just keep going.

And here I stand, fighting everyday
to let my heart soak in the beat
that it thirsts for.
Nothing will ever be the same,
but I will continue to fight.
I refuse to let the beat die inside.

As 2011 comes to a close...

As I look back into 2011, I'm seeing a life that could not have changed in any more ways. Everything is different and I've changed. I've matured and learned lessons and through it all, 2011 was good for me. I finally settled into the direction I've always wanted. I have found my significant other who has changed my life for the better. I learned what love is and I've learned how to love in return.

I've also learned that I can do it. I can tunnel through everything I need to and become stronger because of it. Over the past year, I've lost a grandmother. I've had friends walk out of my life. But I've been able to pick myself up and keep on through and come out on top. I don't regret any actions of the last year. Some of them weren't as great as others, but things happen for a reason. Everything that occurred taught me a lesson and I needed those lessons.

As I walk into 2012, I'm ready to apply those lessons. I will make more mistakes. It will happen. But I've already proven to myself that I can do it. I'm looking forward to 2012 and the challenges it will bring. I can't wait to walk through 2012 with the people that matter most; my family, Shawn and my friends. 2011 was a year of change. 2012 will be the year of success.

My New Year's Resolution
-Keep living, laughing and loving.
-Apply the lessons I've learned this year.
-Stay on track in school and be ready to graduate Dec. 2013.

Blackout

I'm only getting started....

Just a small piece of advice

As much as I would like them to, words do not always cover emotions. Some things just cannot be described with words or adjectives, symbols or metaphors. Not even allegories. Sometimes, you just have to feel and let it be as it is. Because the number one rule of being a writer, it doesn't always work to write.

The Tightrope

Big topped circus, red and white and gold striping
canvas tents, hot and heavy, circles
surrounding the excitement inside.

People like cattle ushered inside of the corral
filling the wooden planks, popcorn flying
from little paper buckets.

Ringmaster takes the stage, hat tall, looming
over a red jacket. Clowns with peeping red
noses and smiles, colors of the rainbow.

Giant gray elephants, stomping in circles,
playing follow the leader. Horses chasing
in a game of simon says and tag you're it.

But then the acrobats begin to fly through the sky,
challenging the top of the canvas, making the ceiling
limitless, walking the tightrope.

The acrobats know more about life than I.
They trust the net underneath them, know their center
of balance, believe in those surrounding them, ready to catch.

They work as a team, connect as a family,
become blurs through the air, flashing
sequins and shine. They are my finale.

The clowns may laugh. The animals may chase.
The lions may roar and the juggles juggle.
But the acrobats are where life comes alive.

The After-Christmas

After the gifts have been unwrapped,
the stockings emptied,
the ham torn off the bone and
the cookies frosted and bit,
family have left with all their toys and
the world is silent.

Too silent and too weird,
 I'm missing you.

I had some laughs, giggling at my cousin
as he tried to open a box filled with toilet paper
instead of packing peanuts.
My heels clicked on the tile floor
as we served up a delicious meal,
but I only wished to share it with you.

Too lonely under the blinking holiday lights,
I'm missing you.

I know it will be soon, once the clock strikes 7
when after the sun sets again,
a knock will come and I will answer,
an eager puppy wagging her tail,
ready to pounce on
you alone.

As I snuggle into bed,
I am ready for you.

All I Want for Christmas is You

Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas 
This is all I'm asking for 
I just want to see my baby 
Standing right outside my door 
Oh I just want you for my own 
More than you could ever know 
Make my wish come true 
Baby all I want for Christmas is... 
You 

Hit The Floor- A Dramatic Monologue

The world isn't as mysterious as some claim.
It may have its dark holes and its gloom,
but it has the sun and the moon.
There is magic in waking up in the morning,
there is a sparkle when it comes to facing a new day.
Even when days seem tough, seem so impossible,
all it takes is finding a groove.
Settle into that beat and rock the world.
Never be afraid to show the real person
hidden under those warm safe covers.
I knew the darkness, I knew the sure fire.
But one day it wasn't enough.

I no longer wanted to be comfortable.
I didn't want to hide under my blankets.
I just wanted to dance and burst,
explode with the addictive beat that hit my body.
That was when the shell broke off, when I stopped
hiding behind the brick wall.
Contagious, infectious and sexy,
make up glittering in the sweat of confidence,
I was me when I hit the floor.

Drift Away

When a part drifts away, it is more than just a leaf in the wind.
It is not only a twig snapped from a weakened branch or
a small pocket knife just nicking the corner of a hard oak table.

When a part of the heart leaves, it is more than the small sting of a needle.
It jabs more than the padded protected tip of a jousting sword.
It bleeds more than a paper cut slashed into a finger pad.

When a piece of the heart is torn away, it is the gun shot wound.
It is the aftermath of a nuclear bomb sitting in your chest.
It is opening up your eyes to see a serial killer posed with an axe.

When a piece disappears from sight, you only want to fight as a samurai warrior.
It is the desire to embody William Wallace and die, just to find the piece again.
It is the stirring of the colonists against the British to die for hope.

It is the faith that the piece will drift back one day.

Procrastination

open laptop
sign in
stare at screen

open word document
type five words
stare at screen

drift to tumblr
sign onto facebook
stare at screen

play solitaire
check email
stare at screen

noon then midnight
stumble on pages
stare at screen

ten minutes before class
freak out
stare at screen

Birth of a Poet

Between the rattling shelves of library books
cross legged on the ratty blue carpet
stained with the wheel skids of the returns cart
peacefully sat a tiny girl, surrounded in books

of adventures and fantasies, of pirates and treasure
but the real gem was really gold, a delicate
gracefully bound book of poetry by the mystical
poets of the century woven with the silver lace

of the moon and the stars. As she sat so quietly
her mind drifted into the daydreams, began forming
words where they were not before as a new poem created
itself, ready to set fire to the wick and begin

the birth of a poet.

Living Room: A Love Story

white walls tinged beige
green automan
brown table
black futon,
red rug.

clanking pots,
boiling water
pasta
tomato sauce
plates
and cups.

DVD player hidden under wires,
26 inch television
a copy of the Princess Bride.

fluffy blankets,
open window
jeans
and belts,
little socks.

comfy t-shirts,
a black headband,
a baseball cap.

arms wrapped tight
a delicate kiss
turned into 2.

lights flicker off.

Anniversary

You don’t remember that night in Hawk Hall 439,
all settled around the room,
uou jumping in and out of the door, but I do.

You might not think back to the night
on the Ferris wheel when my eyes
were on you, not my date’s, but I do.

You somewhat know of the day you taught
me to drive, leaving your hand over mine
on the steering wheel, teaching me, but I do.

You know more of that drunken night at the
bowling alley, where you first took
me by your hands and held me, but I do.

You remember the night, that by moonlight
you held me close and our lips
met for the first time, we do.

Your Portrait through the Eyes of Another

You study intensely, those papers before you
the lines, the details, every inch changes the game plan.
A simple dot could be a door, a window.
Clank falls the ruler and your eyes dart away from the table.
I have distracted you as you reach over for a silent kiss.

A chastised child as I order you back to work.
The scribbling of the eraser, long lanky fingers
graceful with pencil and paper. You are unaware
of my attention. My silent scribble is much like your own.
Deeply absorbed, studying, concentrating,
eyes dart from drawing to reading words to calculator.

Another distraction, but not myself.
A forgotten acquaintance, once maybe friend.
But now is not the time for socialization.
It is time to work as you delve back down to the drawings,
head bowed to work. A scratch of the head,
a bounce of the foot, it is early in a night filled with work.

But you know, as well as I, that it will end,
it will come to a close,
as you will bring me home,
wrap me up in blankets
and slowly, but surely,
rock to sleep.

Stone Turned Fire

Slumbering as a statue, heart just barely beating,
ready to break out, explode, restless energy.
Fire waiting to be set free,
to rush into the world, rip up the ground,
blanket it with the lava and power
that belongs only in the heart of one
who knows true love.

Concrete pavement, set into form,
morphing from the mold, letting go
of the game of tug and war.
The beats of the bass drum
filling the mind, enveloping the body,
anxiety, missing the eyes that calms the soul.

I Love

i adore every inch of you.
every single thing about you
your dorkiness and your smile
even the moments where you try to cut your own hair.
those eyes gazing into mine so lovingly and sweet.
when you're protective while walking and put me farther from the road,
even though i protest.
every time you force yourself to do better than everything you try
how you find your cute hair annoying
your cute button nose
your gorgeous eyes
and lovely tender lips
even when you fail
my spelling ability
you spelled definitely wrong
when im riding shotgun and
you're in your leather jacket and
i catch you at the intersections for that one quick kiss.
when you're driving and you have one hand on the wheel and
the other wrapped so tightly in mine
how you know exactly when not to say anything,
when i just need to be held so close that i cannot be any closer.
with all my heart and soul.
i'm never going anywhere and
i never want to because

i have found my soulmate

we have found our soulmates,
and we may head places but it'll be together
that cute smile you wear when you look at me
right about now
because my heart skips so many beats when i look at you
please don't skip, i need you to live
i am very much alive.
anything could take my breathe or my heart or anything and
i'd still be very much alive with your love.
you are all i need

We are sharing words.

Gazing Moon- revision 2

Up through the black mountains, hiding in the mist,
crouching in a graven cave, eyes blinking in the darkness,
lays a pack of wolves, a bond more fierce than the teeth
in their mouths. Their neutral fur blending together,

A round harvest moon, tinged with orange,
assembles with the stars,
furry chins nestling against the others' necks,
as the little pups breathe silent puffs in her fur.

Rich brown eyes hidden by lids as she snoozes,
lighter hazel swirling with hints of green in his
as he guards over his pack, his everythings,
as the dream king visits them in their slumbers.

For as a pack mate howls one last time at the moon,
The sun pushes the dark clouds away,
dragging along  the oranges and reds and blues,
of life and movement and hearts beating, as one.

November Updates

As I venture into a land of published poets and submitting to journals, I am finding it harder and harder to keep this blog public. I have begun a new poetry journal, all in hand. However, I am going to continue trying to give this blog a shot. I will continue attempting to update it, especially as poems go from raw to settled and polished. Just bear with me as the process may be slow.

I am also considering a name change. When Ravens Fly came out of a hard time in my life. It is modeled after a dark, unsettling poem that does not give any kind of closure. That was a period of my life. Now, it is completely different. The possibility is that I will be changing the blog to Gazing Moon. This new poem embraces a new side of me, a new comfort and a new family. It brings along the fierceness and strength, the bond and the love, that I am currently feeling in my own life. So again, please bear with me as I consider this change and what it would mean for me.

Thank you dear followers for understanding and I will continue to update you on the blog's progress and future plans.

Kaitlyn

Gazing Moon

Up through the black mountains, hiding in the mist,
crouching in a graven cave, eyes blinking in the darkness,
lays a family, a pack, a bond more fierce than the teeth
in their mouths. Their neutral fur blends together, as one.

A round harvest moon, tinged with orange,
sits in the sky, keeping company with the stars,
soft chins resting against the others' neck,
as the little pups sleep quietly in her fur, as one.

Deep brown eyes hidden by lids as she sleeps,
lighter hazel swirling with hints of green in his
as he watches over his pack, his everythings,
as the Dream King visits them, as one.

For once the moon is gone and the stars hidden,
the dark clouds drift away as the sun rises,
bringing with it the oranges and reds and blues,
of life and movement and hearts beating, as one.

Serenade/ Storm Poem

Dark and cold, the windows ice
as you drive me home.
A long night, travel weary,
no lights on the road to guide the way.

Slippery slopes, leaves whirl in the wind,
patches of white, frozen over snow.
Left turn onto a familiar road, almost home.
You squeeze my hand, it's been a dreadful night,
driving in the dark.

A fallen orange cone, we do not think twice.
A tree, power lines wrapped and coiled in its trunk and leaves,
blinds us as we approach.
You glide to a stop, breathing heavily as one.

The electric clock on the dash stops flickering,
frozen like the snow outside.
You pull my hand to your lips, a kiss,
a reassurance that everything is ok.
Slowly turning, we find another way.

Aubade

The creak of the door, there you lay
curled up so your toes don't hang over the edge
snugged in a ball your giant self isn't familiar with
quiet and soft, hair gently rested on the pillow.

I approach, smiling a little smile, knowing you're mine.
Silently, I lift the covers, crawling underneath
as to warm my own chilly feet.
Your eyelids dance as you wrap an arm around my cold body,
warming me to the core.

Snuggled close, your eyes open and you smile,
and I know you have awoken happily.
Sweetly, you wrap your hand around my neck,
drawing me to your soft lips.
And there, your kiss,
the perfect way to wake.

Blood Tap- a work in progress

Cool smoldering coals lit aflame
dancing in the moonlight, finding life
heat rising, vivid orange rapidly growing
Higher, higher, out the cracked window frame.

It was when he touched me, the fire grew.
It engulfed the walls, licked the floor,
blew out the lamp lit candles, took the words,
racing, racing, through the doorknob.

Heart beat quicken, veins pump
the deep crimson red lava.
Gone is the cold, gone is the light.
Flame here to stay.

Stream of consciousness

This is just a stream of consciousness so half of it will not make sense.

My voice fills the space, the void that is the darkness.
It fights the world, beats down the bricks.
Because I don't need your ax anymore.
Once it was useful, but now I have a sword.
It slices and swipes, but does not hurt my throat.
I have found a nuclear bomb in the era of arrows.
That bomb grew in me, I fostered its fuel.
I rose to glory, flew the coop.
I swept and swooped, down and out.
My wings floated on his love, gazing quietly in the sky.
Goodbye I hooted to the old.
How's it going to the now.
Hello to the future.

X ray

Looking me over, glaring into the inside,
past the hair and sweater,
down into the eyes,
feeling the beating of the heart,
swimming through the veins,
drilling into bone.

Analyzed, criticized,
gone over with a fine toothed comb,
transcripts, manuscripts,
dug through to China,
weight on the shoulders.

Eyes watch the prey,
not ready to strike,
but not ready to let up,
always watching.

Stitched Up

The porcelain doll sat, droopy and dropped,
little dress worn with spaces and dots,
round cheeks all covers in spots.
Eyes so sad, depressed and blotted,
tears running down a nose so snotted.

But then came a hand, furry and soft,
of a sweet teddy bear offering his sweater,
to wrap around the poor doll's shivering arms.
He picked her up, brought her to his loft,
held her gently and sang a song.

And there she sat as he mended her dress,
stitched her right up and filled in the holes
of a delicate heart once ripped to shreds.
He gave her a hug, then a kiss,
never to leave her side again.

The Air Balloon- a poem in form

High up in the sky, color streaks
through the air a wicker basket flies
one so happy they could not die
a day not nearly bleak.

Below sits the cold ground
trembling, no longer bound.

Floating gracefully, watching mountains
grassy green hills and snow capped tops
fire streaming into air, pops,
wind dripping like water in a fountain.

Warmth, hot from the sun's rays
never to come down another day.

Brick Road

Steps echoed on the rough brick,
clanking with the sound of heels.
Stumbling on the cracks, weary, tired.
Falling, falling, falling...

Skinned knees, ripped tights, bruised elbows.
Broken heels, bend in the road.
Unsteady, unsure,
Falling, falling, falling...

White as paper,
eyes black holes,
gone.
Fell.

The Swing Set

This is a working direct address poem that was drafted in class.

It was a chilly spring night and I had run off
in tears and shaking, unsure.
It was you that followed, caught up to me
by the clinking metal of the swing set.

As I sat, quietly, looking towards the stars.
You sat next to me in silence,
allowing me to feel the air,
take in the moment and calm down.

You chopped finger holes in your sweatshirt
to keep from freezing your hands
as I spewed the story of confusion.

It was you that wrapped me in a tight hug to your chest,
picked me an early blooming flower
and guided me safely back home.
That was when I knew
I was safe with you.

Teddy Bear

I want to live like a teddy bear,
warm and snugged close to my little owner.
Knitted tiny blankets and sweaters,
and swept off on adventures to the grocery store and car wash.
Swing on the highest swing,
be the honored guest of a tea party,
travel to imaginary worlds.
I want to be comforted at night,
but also give security,
letting my someone know I'm there
and that I'll catch all their nightmares
from the bedroom ceiling and tackle
the monster in the closet.
I want to be a teddy bear,
and learn how to finger paint,
get stolen by Momma to throw me
into the swirling hurricane bath
and then tumbled dry on the ultimate tea cup ride.

The Drive In

Give me back my rustic sunsets, my oranges and reds.
Give me back my star lit nights when the truck
of the car would be popped as we sat at the drive in.
Give me back those times as a family
that we spent together,
buying popcorn and curling under blankets.
Give me back those joke stabs Dad used to tell us kids,
just to make us laugh.
Give me back the joy of giggling together
as the movie progressed or as
my sister's foot was shoved into my face.
Give me back the long tired ride home,
snugged up, car belts restraining.
Give me back my family.

Fantasy of Return

The sweeping fields and expansive barns,
the sweet smell of leather and soap,
shaved bedding squished under booted feet,
cobwebs lining the wooden planks.

The clank of hooves on pavement,
the thump of feet on dirt,
sharp neighs and whinnies,
the jingling of metal clips on halters.

Scratchy hay munched on happily,
sweat and dirt sticking to jeans,
splattered in water from hose and bucket,
mud filled legs as fields saturate.

Flying horse hair through the air
as rubber curry combs are thrown into a bucket,
orange drops of carrots sticking out from
a wet tooth yellow muzzle.

A hug from a special furry copper animal.
A smile that has been forgotten and left behind in the past.

Awakened the Beast- second revise

In the shadows, untouched, the cage sat.
I watched people pass.
A few approached and wandered away.
Some stayed a little while, but they too wandered off
when the Beast wouldn't wake.

I crept near the cage, footsteps quieted,
head pounding.
I mustered all my bravery in my blood.

There he lay, curled up.
His dark chocolate brown black hair mussed,
muscles rippling.
Eyes closed, unaware of my entrance.
Breathe tooted softly from his nose,
trapped behind the steel bars.

I slipped a hand into a worn pocket, fishing around
for the tiny silver key.
Why didn't any one else have the key?
It was in my pocket, not theirs.
The key's delicate neck clicked in the lock.

His eyes shot open, body stanced for an attack.
He looked at me with the deep hazelnut eyes.
Immediately enchanted, I approached.
He pounced, pinned me, teeth out,
held me to his chest.
But instead of fear, passion overtook me
and drove me to free the Beast from the cage.

Awakened the Beast- first revise

The cage sat in the shadows, left untouched.

I watched people as they passed by.

A few approached and wandered away.

Some stayed for a little while, but they too became bored

when the Beast wouldn’t awake.

I crept near the cage, footsteps quieted,

courage in my heart.

I mustered the bravery of a thousand eagles

to face the wrath of the Beast.

There he lay, curled up and watching.
His brown black hair mussed,

humongous muscles rippling.
Eyes closed, unaware of my entrance.
Breathe exhaled from his nose,

trapped behind the steel bars.

I slipped a hand into a worn pocket, fishing around
for the tiny silver key to open the cage.

I wondered why no one else had the key,

but it was in my pocket, not theirs.
The key's delicate neck clicked in the lock,

the keychain clinking against the sterling silver.
Stepping back, I braced myself for the beast.

His eyes shot open, body ready for an attack.
He looked at me with those eyes,
piercing an arrow through my heart.
Immediately enchanted, I approached.
He pounced, pinned me, teeth out.

A sense of safe drifted over me as he held me to his chest.
Instead of fear, it was passion that overtook me
and drove me to let the Beast out of the cage.

Awakened the Beast

I crept near the cage, footsteps quieted, courage in my heart.
There he rested, curled up and watching.
His brown black hair mussed, muscles rippling.
Eyes closed, he lay unaware of my entrance.
Breathe exhaled from his nose, trapped behind the steel bars.

I slipped a hand into a worn pocket, fishing around
for the tiny silver key to open the cage.
The key's delicate neck clicked in the lock.
Stepping back, I braced myself for the beast.

His eyes shot open, body ready for an attack.
He looked at me with those eyes,
those eyes that pierced an arrow through my heart.
Immediately enchanted, I approached.
He pounced, pinned me, teeth out.
But instead of fear, it was passion that overtook me
and drove me to let the Beast out of the cage.

Defining Passion

While the outside is murky, but my heart on fire, I was walking along and something came to me. The definition of passion. It brought back memories of being in a scholarship interview and being asked to go more in depth regarding my passion for writing and journalism, "We've heard it all." While today I cannot fully quote what I told the interviewers that day, something worked because I received the only print journalism scholarship they offered.

But as I think now, a different sense of passion comes to mind. Of course there is the being passionate about an activity you enjoy. That is always good. But what I believe has been lost in the world is the true sense of passion. The need. The fire. The feisty. Passion gets a bad rap sometimes. It gets a bad rap under the Lust Department; that creepy basement closet that only the most desperate for physical closeness go.

Like what the interviewers asked me that day, passion has depth. It has a superficial surface where the lust department lies. It has a more genuine, innocent side and it has the true depth which is what I am just beginning to understand and explore. True depth of passion has the longing, the need, the admiration, the fire, and the desire. It consumes your whole being and it takes a very special person to reciprocate the same amount and depth of passion. But once you find that person, you begin to understand passion. You begin to understand why people use the word.

Passion is something that is difficult to pinpoint. It's not a game of pin the tail on the donkey. It takes maturity and that leap of faith to find and discover it. And once found, you simply cannot let go. You will forever drown in the passion and even though you cannot get out, you won't want to. I want to conclude with a quote from a movie that a friend told me. I forget which movie, but something about it struck me and really seemed to apply.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is full of passion. And medicine, law, business, those are noble pursuits and necessary for life. but poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."

Two pictures of the backyard

This is from my work with juxtaposition and is loosely based off a poem called "Two pictures of my sister."

A flutter of activity as the blur
of a little black and white dog races
across the green grass.
People recline n the deck,
chattering about the summer days
as the sun begins to set.
Children swept high into the sky
by the clank of the old metal swing set.

Burnt grass with patches of dirt
as the hum of the empty pool
swallows the air.
Chairs pulled in as the rusty leaves
drift from the trees above.
A simple cross graces the spot
where the dog lays at rest.
Chairs gone, voices silent.
A mask of quiet fog drips
over the yard as the old gate
bumps into its hinges
as the gentle breeze settles.
Summer has been forgotten.

Mother Mother

Mother mother, you rang me on the phone, asking if I was ok.
But what you never noticed, was how I lied,
the mask I threw on, to throw you off,
to get a chance to breathe, to set free my wings.

Mother mother, why do you keep me in chains?
You hold me tight, a little bird struggling in the nest.
You said the world would hurt me, but I can handle it just fine.
I'm not scared of the dark or the bugs that crawl the streets at night.

Mother mother, let me go, let the world do what it will.
I plead with you, listen to the voice on the phone.
Let the boys kiss, let the fire reign,
just let me go.

Sometimes I Feel the Night- revised

This poem started originally as Sometimes I Feel Pretty. Now, it's totally different and more focused with a more extended image.

Sometimes I Feel the Night

Sometimes, I still stare up at the sky

and bring myself back to that place on the swings,

where I believed magic could happen.

Those stars gazed down at me,

left alone when they hid behind the clouds,

but I knew, deep inside, that they always sit there,

twinkling in the moonlight.

Sometimes, I know I’m content,

realizing that the moon basks me with its light,

keeps me safe and blankets me with white golden fleece

as I swing up and down, high and low at midnight.

It deepens my mind with those sparkling stars

planting a seed of wonder.

Sometimes, I look at the world,

seeing the smallest joys and biggest blunders,

swinging in circles, twisting the chains.

No matter how fast I swing,

I can always take a leap of faith,

feet flying into the air,

finally settling on solid ground.

Am I Invisible?- seriously revised

This poem practically does not look the same as it originally did and I think, it serves its purpose a lot better now.

Am I Invisible?

an ant in the grass, a cloud in the sky?

Do I blend into the background,

a chameleon lost on a branch?

a used car with 100,000 miles, a rented textbook?

Am I an object to pass around,

a broken chair tossed onto the road?

an old rusted penny, a nail dropped from a table?

Am I here to be stepped on and forgotten,

an unraveling rug sitting in the basement?

a key on a chain heavy with silver, a dropped diamond?

Have I been lost in the sea of people,

a two of spades in a deck of ripped cards?

a bright red raincoat, a polka dotted purse.

I refuse to be invisible,

the siren from an ambulance.

Matthew

This is an example of extended simile for my brother in which I compare him to a Sega Genesis console.

The old boxed Sega Genesis,

Sitting in the cabinet, saving dust.

Once found, plugged in,

Off like a Lambo in Gran Turismo,

Speeding off while slurring witty lines

To mock the other drivers.

Cartridge switch, off to Brawl.

Fighting tooth and nail, fierce and fast.

Victory as the sparks race across the screen.

Final punch. Opponent gone.

But there sits Echo in the corner,

Watching over the ocean, signaling for the safety of others.

Laying silent, observing, until the shark comes.

Unplugged. No sound until next time someone stumbles

On the cord.  

Song of the day: This is how it feels by The Veronicas