- d.j. at twenty-four -

by thesewordsiwrite2012

Still illustrating my dreams

under smoky moonlight,

while bullets bust the seams,

thus threatening tonight.

Still writing fine drama

for all these old faces,

while directing make me wanna

retreat to dark, bold places.

 

I never…

can ever…

truly seem to find…

such strength…

at length…

so fear’s always behind.

I’d give…

to live…

for stories that are mine,

so maybe…

I’ll claim these…

when I’m 25.

 

Still riding ’round town

searching reckless for the fresh,

while possessions break down,

tinkering ’til nothing’s left.

Still folding my hands

and asking for good works,

while failing to meet demands

’cause that’s how much change hurts.

 

I sit here…

disappear…

in the shadow’s eye…

and talk…

and balk…

at leaving Ma behind.

One day…

some way…

I’ll walk across the line.

Perhaps…

I’ll snap…

when I’m 25.

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

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