I'm packing to go back to BIOLA and in the midst of packing and going through my room I found several old poems that I wrote when I was 15. They share the depth of my depression I was going through at that time. I don't write poetry anymore. I suppose it is because I'm not sad enough to write it. Perhaps. Either that or I've just changed. Or maybe it's a bit of both.
Poem 1
I saw a tree grow tall,
in the western wood.
It's golden green leaves hung out branching,
Quietly towering.
I heard a tree fall,
in the western wood.
the ax of men was too sharp and so it fell,
Quietly death-showering.
I saw a tree grow tall,
in the western wood.
It's golden green leaves hung out branching,
Quietly towering.
I heard a tree fall,
in the western wood.
the ax of men was too sharp and so it fell,
Quietly death-showering.
