Syzer

I wish I were the sun.

Bright and happy.

Beams of light.

The thing people look forward to seeing.

I wish I were the moon.

Dark and mysterious.

Shapeshifting silver disc.

Poetry is hard in the winter.

It is inexplicable but,

for me,

definitely true.

In the spring, summer, and fall, 

there are limitless possibilities, 

endless inspirations.

I sit down in the perfectly lined rows of old desks.

squeak, squeak, squeak.

He hands out the test, dragging his feet.

shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

Orange vans and

The green ones with

Gum bottoms I

Got in seventh grade and

Loved to the near death of,

Yellow chucks and

My sister's hot pink ones,

Blazers with

Yellow swooshes and pink soles,

where the soft grass meets the sea

is where you'll find her

for eternity now. 

young and alive in vivid shades

of every color

i long for the times

of snow angels and sledding.

how free we were,

way back when.

we slipped down the hill,

narrowly avoiding several trees,

and mr. wilkins,