i can hear the children playing

18 Oct

each morning as i sit here

before the same blank screen

i can hear the children playing

screaming out with the joy

of just being here

right now

and i wonder what stifles my own joy

why aren’t i crying out with glee?

unable to restrain myself?

instead i remain cool, calm, and reasonably collected

writing poems which will be read by

other would-be overflowing founts of ecstasy

who instead stay steady, perhaps grimly,

upon their course

waiting for that next vacation

 

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