sometimes I drive and forget that I have passed miles
I am unsure where they have gone
and then I start to think about ideas that are not pleasant
like what if I died so suddenly like
in a flash of metal and twisted car parts
someday on a road
and how sad that would be for the people left behind to clean up my messes
the ones in my house and in my journals
and littered through the hearts of people here and there
we are supposed to die very old I think
with much time to prepare to leave this earth
having tidied up all of our secrets and fears
swept them into tiny piles
burned them in the backyard
the ashes would stick to our tongues
and the wind would help us
forget
-amy turn sharp
4/1/10
one minute poem over breakfast of black coffee and toast with thick butter slabs
photo via ffffound
4 comments:
when you wax poetic my heart gets all fluttery.
**
we are meant to die very old, for the preparations of hands and mind--of heart and soul while our bones brittle and our small-mindedness dries up into little crinkly lines around the eyes.
and we leave better than we came.
wiser still.
<3
when you wax poetic my heart gets all fluttery.
**
we are meant to die very old, for the preparations of hands and mind--of heart and soul while our bones brittle and our small-mindedness dries up into little crinkly lines around the eyes.
and we leave better than we came.
wiser still.
<3
I think like that almost every time I drive over a bridge. Or hill.
your poem
sara's comment
the tweet
asking if
we wanted
to do this
makes
MY
{heart}
flutter!
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