I lay in bed at night, bundled up tight, having my melancholy dreams,
Then slowly the Sun will rise, enormous in size, and awaken me with its radiating beams.
As I scrub my off-white teeth and comb my dark brown hair,
There lies an essence of freedom in the air—
And that’s all because you are there.
I climb onto the dirty yellow bus, some parts reddening with rust, taking me where I need to be.
Then I begin to think, in my seat that always sinks, if I should have worn that black-logoed tee.
The ride continues on, stopping at each lawn, to the pitter-patter of the squeaky breaks,
And in my heart, playing a mournful chart, there lies a painful ache: it’s followed by a lonesome tear—
Coming about because you are not here.
Throughout school the bell drones on to the sequential periods ahead,
My pencil scratches on lined paper, slowly depleting its lead.
Rip off, turn in, all in a day’s routine: my notebook begins to get thinner,
Then slowly but surely I head on home, contemplating what’s for dinner.
My stomach is full and my mind in a lull, but somehow my heart still feels empty.
Longing for your arrival, I climb back in bed and rest my head for another session of revival.
The windows are open, as are my eyes, restless in my sleep.
I’ve tried playing music, reading a book, and even counting sheep.
Without you here I feel so scared, but know it’s for the best,
After seeing you leave I just can’t perceive why this war must go on without rest.
Then I feel a rumble on the back of my neck and jump up to look outside.
As the plane pulls in it causes great din and I leave the place in which I reside.
Staring up at the pitch-black sky, I see your flight come in,
And after all this waiting, in the early morning’s shading, I’m finally going to be reunited with my kin.
You embrace me with your shaking body, just as relieved as I,
And crying on your shoulder, tough as a boulder, you squeeze me with great might.
Smiling at you, your eyes welling too, warm on a chilly night.
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Wryn's Poems, Short Stories, and other Works
What feel like writing, when I feel like writing, and usually why I feel like writing.
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"Whenever you feel like letting go, remember why you held on for so long in the first place." ~Anonymous[/size:1466e3ef9c][/color:1466e3ef9c][/align:1466e3ef9c]
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