Lost In Midair

Suspended in air,

nowhere near the ground.

The wind rushes past,

resisting my weight.

Lost in midair,

with time sped up.

No way to stop myself,

it's too late.

The ground comes to view,

and appears underneath me.

It was there the whole time.

Disaster

     Disaster.

The first wave came in like a wall of cinderblocks, crashing everything in its path. It's moving inland , straight toward us. No dutch boy can save us now. Were done, but we have to at least try to get away. All five of us jump into the car, headed aimlessly west.

After a half of an hour of listening to the news on the radio, we find out that where we used to live, everything about our lives except for our bodies and what we grabbed before leaving, is gone. My computer is gone, my kitchen is gone, my bed, its all gone, not to be recovered. I always said that I would like to "start over" but this is not what I had in mind.

My whole family spends hours trying to call our friends, most don't pick up, which means that they are in a pretty bad situation, or they pick up, only able to inform us on how bad they are doing, but soon, we will be making our own distress call, the wave is moving inland, catching up to us.

The minutes feel like hours as we battle the wave for the rights of life, it eventually takes us over, but spares us. The next time that we accually have time to think, we are on top of a rooftop, but we aren't, were in our beds, dreaming of this, this cannot happen were in New England, were safe.

Just Remember, some people dont have the luxury to waking up and finding that disaster is only a dream, take Japan for a recent example.

Where We Are

I hear you say something, though I don't know exactly what it is. Though my brain recognizes a sound, I stopped listening a while ago. I can't listen. I just can't anymore.

I turn to look at you. All I want is to see you, your face, your eyes, anything, but your so far gone that you really aren't there. My eyes register your basic figure, but that's all you are, a basic figure. The space inside your outline remains to be filled. It remains to be filled with guesses, with hopes, with anything and everything I used to know but can longer guarantee.

You're gone, and so am I. Let's just face it, there's no room to go back. This road isn't wide enough for a u-turn, or at least, not for both of us, and I can't leave you here just as much as you can't leave me.

I'm stuck, but that's okay. You're here, too.

People

As Horton once said:
"People are people,
No matter how small"
Or no matter how tall
Or how much they love
How little they hate
People are people.

People are complex,
But simple all the same.
With thoughts,
Feelings,
Simplifying everything
To something they can comprehend.

With ideas and fantasies
Hopes and doubts.
People are different
In all the same ways.

Human ideas fuel our minds,
Fill our thoughts.
But only human ideas.

You cant help but wonder,
Is there anything else than what we think?
Is there more, or less?
Well i sure as anything dont know,
But i guess its unsafe to assume that there isnt anything at all.

Studying people, from far away, like a whole new species,
In and of itself.
So complexly simple that they can only be described as people.

Where Words Overlap

It's always there,

whether it shows or not.

It makes us human,

and is perfectly normal.

People say hate is a strong word,

but sometimes it is necessary.

Hate can be slight,

or severely strong.

It bubbles inside you,

and occasionally boils over.

Sometimes toward things,

sometimes toward people,

and even sometimes toward yourself.

Hate can be mutual,

or single sided.

No one knows where this feeling comes from,

or if it feels the same to everyone,

but everyone knows their personal reactions.

Hate can be wanted,

unwanted,

or even regretted.

I'm not quite sure how all this fits into one word but it does.

It's always there,

whether it shows or not.

It makes us human,

and is perfectly normal.

People say love is a strong word,

but sometimes it is necessary.

Love can be slight,

or severely strong.

It bubbles inside you,

and occasionally boils over.

Sometimes toward things,

sometimes toward people,

and even sometimes toward yourself.

Love can be mutual,

or single sided.

No one knows where this feeling comes from,

or if it feels the same to everyone,

but everyone knows their personal reactions.

Love can be wanted,

unwanted,

or even regretted.

Not only does all this fit into one word but oddly enough, it fits into two. Although they are total opposites the lines of love and hate do overlap. And though we may wish otherwise the two are much closer than we'd like to believe.

I Wish I Could Go Back

I want to go back to those times.

Those times of pixie dust, and magic carpets,

Singing birds and poisonous apples.

I want to go back to a simpler time,

When my whole world consisted of fairy tales.

To when me and Jerry set Tom's tail on fire,

To when my favorite puppet's nose grew leaves,

To when I knew exactly who I was.

Living in the story books and TV shows, anything could happen to me and I would be okay,

'Cause I knew that I had Hercules looking over my shoulder,

And Robin Hood right around the corner.

I miss fighting dragons and dancing in elegant ball gowns.

I miss my old friends, Mad Hatter and Winnie the Pooh.

I want swim under the sea with Ariel,

And fly around with Dumbo.

I miss playing in the sandbox with Tommy and Chuckie,

Phil and Lil.

I miss everything that life used to be.

I wish I could go back.

To Give a Man a Fish

There were three men.
They were wealthy
and had all they ever wanted
and more.

Then there were the beggars.
Sitting in gutters
choking on life.

The first man said,
"I have so much,
but these people sit beneath me in filth.
I will give to theme all I own."

And so he did.

The poor rejoiced in the splendor
they received.
But its riches did not last long,
nor the first man.
He died in the filth
he had tried to clean.

The second man,
seeing the mistakes of he before him,
gave to the less fortunate
all he could
without drowning himself.

The beggars took it with pleasure,
but when its glory ran dry
they pounded his door for more.

"I have nothing left to give,"
he cried,
"nothing but my own beating heart!"

So they took that too.

Know that it was not greed
that stank in the pit of their chests,
but blind starvation.

The Third man looked upon
the gloom of there filth
and took a walk to the town square.

There in the slime of the city
he chose one ragged boy.
"You see this?"
he questioned
pulling one copper coin from his pocket.

The boy nodded in aw.

"Take it to the women over there.
Buy from her yeast for bread
and make with it your own loaf,
then sell it
for two coins,"

He died,
a wealthy man.

WOW

Just wanted to say that while reading some of the recently submitted work I was struck by how much better they are than the work that you guys were creating in September.  Why do you think that is?  I feel like it might be because you are exposing yourselves to the different styles and ideas of your classmates when you read their posts and then you are critically commenting on them, which means you are putting yourself in the shoes of the author and evaluating the text.  Is this the case?  Maybe not, maybe you are just becoming stronger writers from being graced by my humble presence daily...who knows.  All I can say is Keep it Up!!!