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Poetry 2000-..... |
On Automatic Pilot
The following was written while sitting at the clinic waiting for nearly an hour for my appointment when I wrote this poem:
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I got duressed this morning Nothing seemed to match Why was I merely thinking I had a plane to catch? Stop the world from turning It always makes me late Leaving has me in a rush This moment cannot wait They say breathe slower-- Count to ten I close my eyes to night Where is my pen and paper? These memories I can't write So much is going wrong I came to tell you this Plus your shirt is inside-out That appointment you will miss Like I just did the doctor On call so far from here Thou shalt do no harm It's been done so have no fear For what tomorrow brings us In patience with dead crowds Resurrect my broken body Let me scan the clouds For all things being equal Such euphemisms odd When all they ever preach Is for likeness of their God Of whom you can-not see Because of your tainted soul Thinking it will fly again Without losing all control. Ciera S. Louise c. Nov. 25, 2003 |